


Kinetic Overload

by scapegoat



Category: Black Panther (Comics), Black Widow (Comics), Hawkeye (Comics), Iron Man (Comic), Marvel, Marvel (Comics), Thor (Comics), X-Men (Comicverse), Young Avengers
Genre: Ableism, Ageism, Alcohol, Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Escorts, Alternate Universe - Race Changes, Alternate Universe - Still Have Powers, Awkward Flirting, Bars and Pubs, Bets & Wagers, Bigotry & Prejudice, Biracial Character(s), Board Games, Bookstores, Caffeine Addiction, Captain America Isaiah Bradley, Celebrities, Classism, Coffee Shops, Diplomacy, Disabled Character(s), Dora Milaje - Freeform, Dry Communities, Escort Service, Everyone Has Issues, Financial Issues, Gambling, Human Disaster Clint Barton, Human Disaster James Rhodes, Human Disaster Natasha Romanoff, Identity Porn, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Implied/Referenced Racism, Mama Rhodes To The Rescue, Massages, Matchmaking, Mental Health Issues, Modern Royalty, Obliviousness, Oral Fixation, Polyamory Negotiations, Roommates, Sam Wilson Is A Treasure, Scheming, Sharing Clothes, Shuri Is A Gift, Sugar Daddies, Sugar Mamas, Television, Unconventional Families, Video & Computer Games, betrothals, bodyguards, romantic orientation(s), sugar babies, webcams/video chats
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-05-12
Updated: 2016-08-15
Packaged: 2018-06-07 18:42:31
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 30,527
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6819685
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/scapegoat/pseuds/scapegoat
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><em>They</em> say “sex sells” but <em>they</em> couldn’t be more wrong. Sex doesn’t sell, motion does – movement, action, the play-by-play. In this world today, no one cares about stills. Everyone wants to know how something works before they buy it. A screenshot of something pretty will only hold interest for so long. Pictures are worth a thousand words, but moving pictures? They’re worth millions.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Drink # 1 - adios motherfucker

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I own nothing and I make no money from writing.

“Hey, Nat?” The redhead on the couch makes a noise of acknowledgment. The blond’s lived with her long enough to decipher most of her monosyllabic grunts and wordless gestures. “Can I borrow your laptop for a sec?” Green eyes flick upward into blue. “I need to find a library since _someone_ got us banned from the campus one.”  
  
Natasha does that weird lip thing she swears she doesn’t do (it’s a cross between a grimace and a smirk), before huffing. “Is it _my_ fault that place is run by misogynistic, heterosexist assholes?” She had a point.  
  
“You forgot ableist.” Their other roommate, James, adds from his seat on the other side of the couch. “Misogynistic, heterosexist, _ableist_ assholes.”  
  
Natasha nods, “right. I seem to recall a certain blond roommate of ours that broke an asshole’s jaw over an ableist comment.” They glance at him. “Although, I will admit I started the brawl. Not that it wasn’t well-deserved. Brock’s lucky he only got a broken jaw out of the deal.”  
  
James tilts his head. “I thought you broke his arm?”  
  
“Did I?”  
  
“I’m ninety percent sure arms do not bend _outward_. Back me up here, Clint.”  
  
“Don’t put me in this. I’m just trying to find a library.”  
  
“Apartment 420 laws clearly state the laptop is for all parties involved.” James nods in agreement, “so asking me is unnecessary.”  
  
“Sorry.”  
  
“Same goes for apologies.”  
  
“Pavlovian conditioning.” James and Natasha exchange glances. “Never mind.” He plops down on the floor in front of the laptop. Given his clumsiness, they should stop leaving this thing here. Then again, they only have one couch and no tables. Not to mention their neighbor’s unprotected wi-fi works best in this spot. Being poor sucks. Clint opens the laptop and his jaw drops. “Uh, Nat?” He’s sure the redhead is glancing in his direction, but he can’t bring himself to look up from the laptop. “Did you do this on purpose? Or did you genuinely forget to clear your history?”  
  
“What are you talking about, Barton?”  
  
“The aptly named website _Getting Some Sugar_ where you and James are both sugar babies?”  
  
“I knew I forgot to do something this morning.” Natasha must’ve nudged James with her foot because he sighs then clears his throat. “Now, Clint—”  
  
“Gotta pay for classes somehow.” She interrupts. “You got an easier way to make money I’m all ears.” Clint looks between the two of them dubiously. “It’s not all bad.” James crosses his fingers and Natasha repeats the motion. “Swearsies realsies.”  
  
Clint sighs, “why didn’t you sign me up then? If you— _we_ —need cash?”  
  
“Your brother pointed out to us that you are incredibly anti-photogenic.” Clint cringes. “His best idea was photoshopping a picture of himself with blond hair, and your tattoos. He then added he’d wear the hearing aids for realism.”  
  
Clint massages his temples. “Why is my brother so stupid?”  
  
“Because you were both raised in the circus?”  
  
“That’s hella discriminatory, Nat. I mean, you were raised by ballerina assassins but I don’t judge.” She narrows her eyes then glances at James who puts up his hands placatingly.  
  
“Don’t look at me. I come from a normal family.” Clint and Natasha exchange glances then nod in agreement. With their fucked-up childhoods, James Rupert Rhodes provided every bit of normalcy their lives desperately needed. The three of them met in what most people would identify as a “meet-cute” (or “meet-weird” if such a definition exists). Natasha ~~(or Natalia according to the website)~~ isn’t necessarily good with people – even on her best day. She has this aura of intimidation that hides goofy nature. James is a people person all around and Clint, according to several psychologists, harbors self-destructive and unflattering social tendencies.  
  
There is only one coffee shop a thirty-mile walking distance from their university. Every other off-campus eatery liked severing “herbal” (not the drug kind) refreshments. Claimed keeping students (and teachers) hepped up on caffeine wasn’t good for their brains ~~; it also was not good for any of their drink sales.~~  
  
James, Natasha, and Clint all grabbed (or tried to grab) the same cup of coffee because they all used the same damn name and ordered the same fucking drink. Even the barista couldn’t tell what was for which of them.  
  
They rock-paper-scissored for it but kept tying. The barista immediately made two more of the same drink after their fifth go, handing them to the boys. Although Clint was ahead of them in the line he accepts a newer drink acquiescing his thanks all the while Natasha eyes him like he’s a woodland creature about to bolt.  
  
Clint and James then make small talk as they exit the busy coffee shop with Natasha a few steps behind, staring. It only takes a few steps for Clint’s clumsiness to kick in. He trips spilling his newly received coffee along with everything else in his backpack, which rips as he falls.  
  
The redhead snorts a laugh then helps James help Clint.  
  
Natasha places her coffee on the ledge and once they’re finished helping Clint a bird flies into her cup knocking her coffee over. It took a lot of convincing from Clint and James for her not to use her slingshot at the bird she’s yelling expletives at.  
  
When the dust settles, they split James’ coffee.  
  
Two weeks after that they start hanging out regularly.  
  
Three months after the coffee incident, they become roommates.  
  
It was obvious, at the start of their living arrangement, Natasha was used to sharing space with other people but did not enjoy it. She navigated around Clint and James, keeping to herself. It was like living with a spectre. She left virtually no trace of her existence other than the faint whiff of the perfumes she used.  
  
Clint and James had no such problems, but Clint’s unique brand of tactlessness and general lack of self-preservation skills made it easy for him to come and go as he pleased. It took him less than two weeks to get into Natasha’s personal space. Strangely enough, she didn’t mind.  
  
Nowadays, as seen by her and James sprawled out on the couch, she’s in their personal space as much as they’re in hers.  
  
Their friendship is the stuff dreams are made of.  
  
“Speaking of which.” James says. “I left for two days to visit ma and when I came back Nat signed up to be a sugar baby. When I asked her about the website, she made a compelling case about why I should join as well.”  
  
“How far behind are we in the rent?”  
  
“Now? We’re all caught up. Three weeks ago? Behind by two months.”  
  
“You guys paid three months of rent within three weeks?” Two nods, “yet you never thought to, oh I don’t know, leave this shithole? Follow-up question, if not leaving at least put furniture in said shithole?”  
  
“Contrary to what you may think, Barton, if we moved out or brought in furniture, you’d notice.” Clint makes a seesawing gesture.  
  
“We’re two blocks away from the school and we’ve lived in this shithole for almost six months.”  
  
“You just admitted it’s a shithole! I’m not saying we move to Princeton or a fancier part of Jersey. I’m just saying maybe we can _browse_?”  
  
“We’re lucky to be living in this shithole and paying what we do...” She glances at James who gives a one-shoulder shrug, “but I know when I’m outvoted. We’ll go apartment _browsing_ this weekend.”  
  
Clint pumps his fist in the air. “Hold up. You have a date this weekend.” James says and Natasha’s grimace-smirk is back.  
  
“Your date is an entire weekend?” Natasha hangs her head and nods. “I don’t know that expression.”  
  
“Me either.” James beckons him. Clint, and the laptop, squeeze between them on the couch. “Meet Tash’s ‘date.’” Clint puts the laptop in James’ lap as he browses the website. “Howard Stark: co-founder and current owner/CEO of Stark Industries.”  
  
“Tash, this dude is older than your pops.” The redhead shudders. “I’m not judging, but are you gonna bone this guy?”  
  
“I’ll find out this weekend.” She lolls her head from side to side. “Sometimes when they say they’re looking for sex, they don’t do it. I’m hoping this is one of those times.”  
  
“He looks like one of those old guys that still fucks on the regular, Tash.” Clint leans into James’ shoulder. “Oh lookie, he has a son _older_ than us.”  
  
Natasha punches him in the arm. “It’s true.” James adds, wincing when Natasha punches him next. “You’re the one that wanted recon before every meeting.”  
  
She takes a deep breath. “You’re right, unfortunately. Google the hell out of him.”  
  
“But not in a stalkerish way, right?” Natasha narrows her eyes at the blond.  
  
☕☕☕☕  
  
Reconnaissance on Howard Walter Anthony Stark (Jr.) made Nat want to cancel – so they told her about him _without_ telling her. Apparently, it was something she and James perfected in the three weeks they kept Clint in the dark about the whole thing. According to Nat, it’s his anti-photogenic presence that had her and James reconsider telling Clint from the get-go. It’s difficult to explain how someone as adorable as Clint can morph into something inexplicable through film. Once the date weekend was over, Natasha and James vowed to try and do _something_ about that; if something could be done.  
  
_Getting Some Sugar_ is run by Emma Frost – a telepath who doesn’t need her abilities to know what people want. Yes, that is a motto of the website. Ms. Frost is in a polyamorous relationship with one Scott Summers and a Greer Grant (the website’s co-founder). Scott, in turn, is in a relationship with a woman named Jean Grey that Emma and Greer are totally okay with. Because of this, the website promotes healthy poly relationships whether they’re romantic, sexual or platonic. Clients (sugar mamas or sugar daddies) and sugar babies must come to a unanimous decision or any relationship cannot be formed.  
  
Nat geared up like she was going off to war instead of a two-day date. James convinced her not to take her gun(s), but only barely. She did, however, bring the pepper spray, _several_ pocket knives and her retractable baton. None of her weapons (both concealed and in plain sight) mattered because Natasha can crush men’s skulls between thighs like sparrow’s egg. Those Russian Ballerina Assassins did not fuck around. _Getting Some Sugar_ has a policy against harassing sugar babies; Natalia Alianovna Romanova has a policy against handsy bastards.  
  
☕☕☕☕  
  
Howard Walter Anthony Stark (Jr.) is a fifty-four-year-old Virgo, recently divorced from Maria Collins Carbonell-Stark, with a(n adopted) son: Anthony Edward Stark. Maria kept the surname, but the prenuptial agreement didn’t let her keep his cash. It didn’t matter though, Maria had money coming into the marriage.  
  
Despite not wanting to be here, so far nothing about the man made Natasha reach for the knives strapped to her left thigh. The same, however, could not be said about the woman approaching him.  
  
“Howard!” Maria greets, kissing him on both cheeks. “Your dates get younger and younger ever year.” The weekend long “date” is the annual benefit Stark Industries throws. It’s an orgy of rich beneficiaries needlessly throwing their money to erect their egos. The damn benefits aren’t even real! James checked.  
  
Fortunately, Natasha was not required to latch onto Howard every time someone called his name or looked in his direction, which meant she was free to peruse the tables. Clint gave her and James excellent food stuffing advice for buffets he learned during his time in the circus. The knowledge kept them fed for _months_.  
  
“The same could be said about you, my dear.” Their divorce, not messy yet covered by countless news stations, was two weeks ago. Maria’s dates always swam at the shallow end of the dating pool age, but this kid barely breached his twenties! If this were a competition, his date blew hers out of the water. “Did you have to wait by the sandbox very long?”  
  
Maria bats her eyelashes, “as opposed to hiring a prostitute? I’d watch her if I were you...” The brunette glances in Natasha’s direction, “food is one thing, but don’t look so surprised when jewelry goes missing.”  
  
“You insinuated my date is not only a lady of the evening but a thief as well?”  
  
“Come on, Howard.” Maria rolls her eyes. “I understand your need for arm candy, but even with your charm there is no way you did not pay for her.” The brunette puts her hands on her hips. “Your motto is why get something for free when you can pay for it. It’s always worth it or something.” She shrugs. “What whorehouse did you patrol?”  
  
“I went on an escort service website.”  
  
“Of course you did.” Maria shakes her head. “I love how unashamed you are of this.”  
  
“What’s to be ashamed about?”  
  
“Are you serious?”  
  
“Yes.” He jerks his head toward her date, “where did you meet this one?”  
  
“A dating website.”  
  
“Half a step above my website.”  
  
Maria rolls her eyes, “you don’t have a clue; as usual. Dating websites—”  
  
“Require payment.” Howard finishes, “or you get a one-month trial. I see the commercials.”  
  
“You’d rather shell out hundreds – possibly _thousands_ – of dollars on a whore than less than a hundred on a statistical match?”  
  
“She’s not a whore—”  
  
“Sorry, ‘ _escort_.’” She air-quotes, “whatever. By definition, she’s a sex worker. Ergo, a whore.”  
  
Maria’s date’s eyes finally move from the floor. “You shouldn’t belittle sex workers, Mrs. Stark.” Maria tilts her head.  
  
“Why? Do you have any idea how many respectable jobs exist in this world?”  
  
“You watch porn, don’t you?” Howard interrupts, “they’re sex workers.”  
  
“If I recall, it was you that watched pornographic videos. I had no interest in that trash—”  
  
“For someone who refers to porn as _trash_ , you sure enjoyed having sex. But please tell me how those two aren’t the same.”  
  
“Not even twenty minutes in and the two of you made a scene.” They both turn to the brunet, “always great seeing you two.”  
  
“Anthony.” They reply.  
  
“No, no. No need to be quiet _now_. You were tearing one another apart about juvenile dates and bad mouthing sex workers, which, by the way, your ‘date’” He air-quotes, “is right about. Getting paid to have sex is incredibly respectable and oh so satisfying.”  
  
Maria pinches the bridge of her nose, “how long were you standing there?”  
  
“Just got in. Pepper filled me in along the way.” Maria’s eyes flit toward the redhead standing beside her son. “You remember Pepper, don’t you?” Maria continues to look the woman up and down as the brunet claps his hands together, “how about we do what we came here to do? Pose, schmooze and look like the perfect family everyone expects. Then you two can bad mouth one another in front of smaller crowds, like always.”  
  
“Excuse me, Mrs. Stark. I-I have to agree with your opinion.” A man says furiously shaking her hand. “It isn’t right for people to sell their bodies or time for money.”  
  
“Excellent opinion, why not discuss it—” The brunet turns the guy toward the bathrooms, “over there. With the rest of the shit.”  
  
“Anthony!” Maria chides, “I apologize, we should discuss this further, privately.” She glares at everyone then walks away with the man and her “date.”  
  
“By the way, Howard, two fucking thumbs up emojis. Didn’t I tell you that website was amazeballs? But if you didn’t want to piss off Maria, you should’ve started at about a six? Maybe five-and-a-half? That is a smoking hot ten. An eleven even.”  
  
“I see you left your filter at home, Anthony.” The brunet shrugs.  
  
“And _I see_ Maria’s trying to make you miserable, as always.” Howard sighs, “does your smoking hot date have a smoking hot name?”  
  
“Natalia.” Howard shakes his head as his son gives him a thumbs up. “How are you, Virginia?”  
  
“I’m fine, Mr. Stark, thanks for asking. I’d ask how you are but...” She shrugs with a grimace, “I witnessed it.”  
  
“This is now a Maria-free zone.”  
  
“I like that idea. The drinks are on me.”  
  
“Tony, this is an open bar.”  
  
The brunet rubs his hands together, “even better, PepperPot. I’ll surprise both of you~” Tony merrily makes his way to the bar.  
  
“Is it wise for him to get us drinks?”  
  
“He only has two hands, Mr. Stark.”  
  
Anthony “Tony” Edward Stark, like his (adopted) father before him, is a man of eclectic tastes. He takes a seat in one of the stools beside Howard’s date. She has shoulder length, curly, fire-engine red hair that weirdly suits her. The emerald green dress compliments her green eyes and Tony really needs to stop checking out his dad’s escort. “Barkeep.”  
  
The bartender turns to him, “Mr. Stark, a pleasure as always.”  
  
“Please, Carol, just Tony tonight.” The blonde salutes him. “I need something strong for Pepper and the old man.”  
  
“You got it, chief.”  
  
Tony drums his fingers on the bar for approximately three seconds before he turns to the redhead, “you’re here with my dad.”  
  
“Astute observation.” Is the reply before she takes a sip of whatever the hell that is.  
  
“What are you drinking?”  
  
“That’s an _adios motherfucker_.” Carol replies, sliding two miscellaneous brown drinks in front of Tony. “Never heard of it, and I’m a goddamn bartender. I should know these things!” She shakes her head. “What you have in front of you are a blowjob and screaming orgasm.”  
  
“Well, I usually like to have those two things together.” Carol snorts then shoes him away. “Thanks, Carol.” He takes the drinks to Pepper and Howard.  
  
“What am I looking at?”  
  
“A screaming orgasm.” Tony tilts his head, “or is it the blowjob?”  
  
“The darker one is the blowjob.” Pepper says taking said drink from Tony’s hand. Both Howard and Tony stare at her. “What? I don’t drink at work.” She takes a sip.  
  
“You’re not drinking?” Howard raises a dubious eyebrow taking a sip of his “screaming orgasm.” Who the hell named these drinks?  
  
“I don’t need to drink to have a good time.” Pepper and Howard share a look as they take sips. “Okay, maybe I do, but I’ve been sober all week.” Howard nods as he continues to drink. “You know the worst drink name I know is ‘blue balls.’ Why don’t I know any sex related drink names?”  
  
“I think you just drink them without knowing the name.” Pepper replies. Tony opens his mouth to argue but finds he has nothing to argue about.  
  
“Blue balls is a drink I enjoy, but a feeling I hate.” Pepper snorts into her drink. “Real mature, Virginia.” Tony chuckles. “Ah, you two are saved. Natalia.” The redhead makes her way over to them with a different colorful drink in her hands. Tony understands better than anyone, except maybe his mother, the need to maintain a two drink minimum in Howard’s presence. “My son, Anthony – though he prefers Tony, and this young lady is Virginia Potts, but Anthony charitably bestowed her with the nickname ‘Pepper.’”  
  
“Pepper?” A corner of the redhead’s lips tilt into a smirk.  
  
Pepper sighs, “please don’t make this a thing, Natasha.”  
  
Howard looks between the redheads, “you know one another?”  
  
“Now I desperately need something non-alcoholic.” Tony says walking back to the bar.  
  
“We attend the same university.” Pepper explains.  
  
“Ah yes. Remind me again what university you attend?”  
  
Pepper’s eyes widen. “I attend a university. Yup. It’s a relatively new—”  
  
“Virginia.” Pepper gulps, “you don’t attend some third rate college because of my son, do you?”  
  
“No sir.” She shakes her head, “U. University is second rate at best, and I absolutely did not think of Tony when I accepted admittance.”  
  
Howard raises an eyebrow, “it’s not in New York, is it?” Pepper’s face contorts painfully. “Where’s the school, Natalia?”  
  
“Union, New Jersey. It’s about an hour bus ride.”  
  
“You commute an hour?!” Pepper flinches. “While I am immensely and eternally grateful to you for getting my son’s life on track, you should think about yourself. Is this something you’re comfortable doing?”  
  
“Yes sir. Everything is fine.” Howard raises an eyebrow, “I swear.” She glances at Natasha whose lips quirk. “May I borrow your date for a second?”  
  
“Of course.”  
  
Pepper thanks him then grabs Natasha by the arm. They bypass a confused Tony on the way out the building. Day one of the Stark Industries whatever is held in one of the lesser known buildings then the schmoozing kicks into overdrive tomorrow at the main building. Pepper takes a deep breath then leans against the railing. “Do you work for Howard or his son?”  
  
“Both?” Natasha raises an eyebrow, “Howard hired me to be his son’s assistant. I take orders from both of them. Enough about me. How did this happen?” She leers, “it is nice seeing you dolled up.”  
  
“Sugar baby website Nelson told us about.”  
  
“It’s _real_?” Natasha nods. “You— _oh God_ , is Clint on the website too?”  
  
“Not yet, but Rhodes and I are gonna work on that.”  
  
“Good, you guys should. He’d get hits like crazy if you fix his... _problem_. At least he isn’t obsessed with taking selfies or anything.” Pepper sighs, “like his brother.” They both shake their heads. “Anyway, best idea is to do face time.”  
  
“That’s no good, the laptop camera distorts.” Pepper grimaces. “I have an entourage of make-up artists, well make-up artist students. It’ll workout, somehow.”  
  
“Call me when it happens?”  
  
“Naturally.” Natasha smirks, “or will you be too busy in Manhattan then, _Pepper_?”  
  
“You’re not letting that go, are you?”  
  
“It suits you. Besides, you told me you hate your name with all the state jokes and whatnot.”  
  
Pepper blows out a breath, “it just _happened_. One day its _Virginia this_ and _Virginia that_ , the next it’s can you reach this shelf for me, _Pepper_.”  
  
“You’re taller than him?”  
  
“We’re the same height but, evidently, my arms are longer.” Natasha shakes her head. “The job isn’t as terrible as it sounds, but it’s nowhere near glamorous as it looks.”  
  
“I’ll take your word for it, and it’s the same for me.”  
  
Pepper extends her hand, “shall we head back in there?”  
  
Natasha takes it, “let’s.”  
  
☕☕☕☕  
  
“So...” Tony clicks his tongue, “your— _our—_ assistant knows your date?” He nods to himself, “small world.”  
  
“Were you aware of Virginia’s choice in schooling or was that one more thing that didn’t concern you?”  
  
“What’s wrong with her school? She’s not gonna be your daughter-in-law, who cares if she’s not in an Ivy League College.”  
  
“I care because she’s smart enough to attend one.” Tony lolls his head in a circle.  
  
“Just lacks the funds, right? If you pay for her to go to a fancy college, you can kiss your assistant goodbye.” Tony salutes with his empty glass. “I checked out her school, it’s passable as far as second rate colleges go.” Howard sighs. “It could easily be mistaken for a good school.”  
  
“Please stop talking.”  
  
“Tut-tut.” Maria begins sliding in the seat next to Tony, “you boys all alone?”  
  
“Where’s your date, mother? Is it already past his bedtime? Seriously, is he even legal?”  
  
“Yes, Anthony, my date is very much legal in all fifty states.” Tony hums. “I can’t believe you brought your assistant. We’re the faces of Stark Industries. Tell them, Obadiah.” The balding man takes a seat beside Maria.  
  
“Can’t say you guys are doing a bad job. People are talking. Isn’t that what you want?”  
  
“Exactly. Obie’s got the right idea.” Tony nods in agreement. “Besides, what are we doing wrong _now_ , Maria?”  
  
“Do I have to spell it out for you? Your assistant and an escort at a private event such as this?”  
  
“If you have problems with our dates you should’ve picked them out like you threatened to do.”  
  
“Let’s relax.” Obadiah starts, “no one’s doing anything wrong. We’re all here to schmooze and enjoy the fruits of Stark Industries with our respective plus ones.”  
  
“You brought a date!?” Tony asks. Howard and Maria look at him, “what? You guys were thinking it too.”  
  
“Have to admit, the boy’s right. Where is your date?”  
  
“In the ladies’ room.” As questionable glances are exchanged, Tony fires off a quick text to Pepper.  
  
Meanwhile, on the opposite end of the building, Virginia “Pepper” Potts glances at her cellphone and stops walking. “What?”  
  
“What, what?”  
  
“Tony wants me to check the bathroom for Obadiah’s date.”  
  
“What’s an Obadiah?”  
  
“Not a _what_ , a who. Obadiah Stane is a business partner, shareholder, drinking buddy.” Pepper scratches her forehead, “he’s also a prick but that’s neither here nor there.”  
  
“What bathroom are we checking?”  
  
“All of them?”  
  
“Then how will we know his date?”  
  
“I know Stane’s taste in women; it won’t be hard tracking his date. Let’s hit this bathroom first.”  
  
“Sounds like a plan.”  
  
The redhead’s hit the bathroom closest to them first. They crouch down, careful not to mess up their dresses, to check the stalls - which are all empty. The next two bathrooms they search are also empty. It’s a big building with lots of bathrooms but how many can the first floor have? Guards sealed off the stairs and the elevators have out-of-order signs on them. Pepper can see Tony and his parents with Stane in the distance so they look in the bathroom to their left.  
  
Several women walk out as they walk in but Pepper sees who she’s been looking for. Stane’s low-key racist, blatantly sexist ass would go for an “exotic beauty” for arm candy. The woman has a long dark green flowy evening gown with a large slit climbing up the part of your leg that meets your ass.  
  
She’s running her fingers through her long black hair and Pepper’s jaw drops. “Elektra?”  
  
Startled, the woman reaches for her slit looking through the mirror. She drops her hand then stands up straight. “Virginia?”  
  
“We call her Pepper now.” Natasha says earning a glare from the taller redhead.  
  
“Pepper...” The woman muses, “I like it.”  
  
“You’re here with Obadiah Stane?”  
  
Elektra runs a hand through her hair again, “unfortunately. Really got screwed over with that website.”  
  
“You’re a sugar baby too?”  
  
“No? Are you two? Who is this by the way?”  
  
“Right. This is my friend, Natasha. Natasha, this is Elektra.” They shake hands. “Foggy told us about this sugar baby website I thought was a hoax.”  
  
“But it’s so much more than that.” Natasha adds. “It’s called _Getting Some Sugar_.” Elektra nods. “I’m here with Howard Stark. What website are you from?”  
  
“Friends In Escort.” Elektra shakes her head, “admittedly it’s a terrible name, but I get business. The only thing that sucks is it’s like a blind date all the time. I hardly expected to be with a man forty plus years my senior _if so few_.”  
  
“Forty?” Pepper echoes. “He hasn’t _touched you_ , has he?”  
  
“I’m equipped in the knowledge of seventeen different forms of martial arts. He’s not touching anything below the waist.” Pepper glances at Natasha who waggles her eyebrows.  
  
Pepper’s surprised Natasha and Elektra don’t know each other; they share tons of mutual acquaintances, including her, and they have similar personalities: seemingly serious yet incredibly goofy. Pepper can also add dangerous to that list.  
  
“—ways, better get back to my ‘date.’” Elektra finishes with an air-quote. “See you two out there.” They nod and Elektra exits the bathroom. Pepper lifts the vibrating phone in her hands, sighs, then sends a text.  
  
“We should head back too.”  
  
☕☕☕☕  
  
“Did you have to come to the library today?” Clint peers over the computer screen at his roommate across from him at the table also behind a computer screen. “Think of all the other non-school related things we could be doing now.”  
  
“Like binge watching on Hulu or Netflix?”  
  
“Why not both? We still have the free month trials.” Clint looks back down. James sighs, “you know how I get when I’m bored.”  
  
“You offered to tag-along.”  
  
“Couldn’t have you get banned from this place too. You might as well dropout at that point.” James taps his fingers against the table. “Wanna head to the bookstore after this?”  
  
Clint peeks up again, “sure. I wanna look at the cookbooks.” James hums. “Why don’t you have a date?”  
  
“Got one tomorrow.” Clint’s eyes go back down to his screen. “Did you wanna try with your photo now?”  
  
“If we did it without Tash, she’d be pissed.”  
  
“True. If Tash hates one thing, other than her irrational hatred of apples, it’s exclusion.” James taps his chin, “think about it this way: she excluded you from the website in the first place.”  
  
“You just wanna see us play Twister again.”  
  
James holds up his hands in a placating gesture, “the way you two move is mesmerizing, point blank. Plus, it’s not my fault we decided to settle disagreements through board games.” Sometimes they use video games but Natasha is dangerously competitive, and after the third Wii remote broke from her crushing it in anger, they switched to something more practical. Can’t break the Twister board. Well, you _can_ but so far she hasn’t. She did, however, put a crack in the Trouble sphere where you use the die. How? They’re still trying to figure it out. Still works though. “That reminds me, we probably need to head to that store to get more games Tash can break.”  
  
“And since Tash isn’t here you might be able to buy Mouse Trap.”  
  
“Damn right, I will.”  
  
“You know you’ll never play it, right?”  
  
“Doesn’t mean I don’t want it.” Clint snorts.  
  
_“Attention patrons, the library will be closing in ten minutes.”_ The PA system announces.  
  
James eyes the clock on the computer, “it’s almost seven already?” Whistling, he shuts his computer down. While he came here to accompany Clint, he did some classwork too. Never look a gift horse in the mouth. Or free wi-fi. Being poor sucks. James just started this sugar baby thing. He hasn’t had many clients yet, nor has he made enough money to needlessly splurge on a laptop or any trivial item he’s been dying to get when he lacked the funds. All the extra money he has, he’s saving for bills. Just because they’re caught up now doesn’t mean they’ll stay that way next month – or even next week. It’s better to be frugal now then homeless later.  
  
Clint’s gathering his things when the notebook that was hanging precariously at the edge of the table for the last three hours finally falls. “Aw, notebook.” Just as he’s about to bend down to pick it up from the chair, a pair of denim clad legs appears in his line of sight. The blond staggers a bit watching the owner of the legs bend down to pick up the notebook.  
  
“I believe this belongs to you.” Replies a rich, velvety voice. Clint slowly looks up at one of the hottest guys James’ ever seen in his twenty-one years on this Earth. It makes him wanna drop things on the floor so this beautiful man can pick them up; it also makes him think about this guy fucking him against the table, but that’s neither here nor there.  
  
Sweet, oblivious Clint thanks the handsome stranger as he accepts his notebook. The handsome stranger, in turn, nods in reply then walks off. James does check out the guy’s back, which is as good as the front.  
  
Clint’s back to collecting his belongings, stuffing them in the backpack he borrowed from Natasha – he has a small, barely noticeable smile on his face. James shrugs it off, intent on putting his things away when he looks over his roommate’s form at the handsome fella from earlier. He takes a glimpse over his shoulder at Clint, _smiles_ , then goes about his business.  
  
James blinks.  
  
This doesn’t look like one of those times where someone flirts with Clint and he completely misinterprets. Not that James would classify what transpired as _flirting_.  
  
Or would he?  
  
Clint doesn’t flirt the way most people do, so neither might this guy. He knew Clint well enough to not try verbally flirting.  
  
“Dude...” Clint’s head snaps up to him, James raises a meaningful eyebrow the blond’s way.  
  
“He’s a customer.” James nods slowly, suspiciously. Clint works part-time at one of those bookstore – coffee shop combos approximately forty-six miles from the campus’ main building, but less than twenty from their place. It’s the second establishment within a fifty-mile radius (and that includes convenience stores) to serve caffeinated beverages and since they live dangerously close to a dry community there isn’t a lot of alcohol either.  
  
It’s pretty much Hell on Earth.  
  
Next apartment they get, they’re doing recon.  
  
Clint hoists the backpack over his shoulder. “I know that look, Rhodes. You’re scheming.”  
  
“I am not.” Clint narrows his eyes as James starts walking. “Come on, they’re closing and we have books to check out.”  
  
☕☕☕☕  
  
Natasha texts them and sends a plethora of pictures from the event. She’s clearly bored because she sends pics of various cheese trays. Who knew there were so many types of cheeses in the world.  
  
When they step inside the building, they’re immediately greeted by the girl behind the counter. “Where’s the third musketeer?” Every time James visits, this girl has a different name on her name-tag. Today’s name-tag says _“Donna.”_ Her real name is Shuri and after an abundance of mispronunciations just about anyone would get pissed. So, with her boss’ permission, she started the different day – different name shtick; sometimes she’d go with simple names (like today) and others she’d really set out to confuse people. Two weeks ago, James was certain she didn’t have a real name on her name-tag. It barely fit on the name-tag.  
  
“On a date.” James replies. Shuri smirks. “Not like that. It’s a work date.”  
  
“Still better than spending a Saturday here.” James neither agrees nor disagrees. “Where’s Barton run off to?”  
  
“Cookbooks.” Shuri nods knowingly. When Clint’s not attending to customers he’s perusing cookbooks (or manga; he checks out the porn sometimes too). “We’re heading to Strange’s after this.”  
  
“Heading to your favorite spot to get your ‘old-school’ games?”  
  
“You know it. What time do you get off?”  
  
Shuri checks her watch, “now actually. I’ll ring up Clint then clock out.” Shuri directs Clint to a new cookbook on Wakandan delicacies then rings up his purchase. The three of them like to experiment with food of other cultures. It’s the best thing to do when you can’t afford the foods you normally eat. As long as Nat’s not cooking anymore Russian dishes, James doesn’t care what’s being made. No disrespect to Russia, but half of that shit wasn’t even edible.  
  
Shuri came from Wakanda three months ago and James could imagine how homesick she must be. He’s from Philly and even though it’s only a state away he gets homesick sometimes. James wonders why she hasn’t picked New York or Cali to live in, instead of the middle of West Nowhere, New Jersey. If anyone wanted to get a “feel” for America, it would be in one of those “famous” places.  
  
“You sure you want me to cook this stuff? I’d hate to mess up food you grew up eating.”  
  
“You worry too much. I will help you. In fact, I volunteer as official taste tester. Furthermore, you may use my apartment for cooking.”  
  
“Win-win.” He fist bumps James who shakes his head. “We can’t do it without Nat, so maybe Tuesday?”  
  
“That is acceptable.” They shake hands.  
  
_Strange’s House Of Mystery_ sounds like a haunted house but its actual mystery is the amount of customers it gets. The store is like eBay, only you see and even feel what you’re getting beforehand. It has things from before the Internet became more practical than face time: discontinued comic books, the original Nintendo, _rotary phones_ , the list goes on. And everything works! It also has new things like those damn bobbleheads everyone and their mother collects.  
  
James makes a beeline for the old board games. Natasha’s not here to sneak up on him stealing the games right from his hands. Damn stealthy Russian ballerinas.  
  
He doesn’t see Mouse Trap, unfortunately, but Battleship is here. And not the new easier one, it’s the original one no one knows how to play properly. Nah. Nat might break it. Hell, James just might break it. Not worth wasting the three bucks it’s listed for.  
  
“I have yet to play Cards Against Humanity.” Shuri muses.  
  
“Don’t. That game ruins lives. A friend of mine broke up with her boyfriend over it. Admittedly, the guy was a douche but that’s beside the point.” He puts Risk in his basket. “Mario Kart 8 also ruins lives. Just a heads up.” Shuri nods with a hum making a note on her smartphone. “In fact, you’re better off not playing any Mario Kart or Super Smash Brothers game with friends.”  
  
“Check it out.” Clint says approaching. His inexplicably buff arms are full of card packs. The basket hanging from his right elbow has a few board games in it.  
  
“Are those what I think they are?” Clint’s grin is all the answer he needs. “They original or one of the newer regions?”  
  
“Don’t know. Kinda scooped them all up.” Shuri holds up her empty basket and Clint dumps the contents in his hands in the basket.  
  
“What are these?”  
  
“Pokémon cards. Never figured out how to play with them, but I used to collect them. Those and Yu-Gi-Oh cards. Used ‘em like currency in the circus.”  
  
“Me too. Except for that last part. I mean, I collected them too.” James lets out a content sigh, “those were the days. Shit’s too complicated now. I knew all 150 pokémon, now they have like over 700 and who knows how many more are coming with the new games.”  
  
“You’re still gonna buy it, right?”  
  
“Are you crazy? Of course I am. I grew up with Pokémon.” They sift through the packages, “are you buying any of these?”  
  
“I wanted to, but I guess it doesn’t make any sense.” Sighing, he rubs the back of his neck. “I’ll never use ‘em. Also, I left an Uno card near Nat’s room once and she set it on fire. It was blank, but could you imagine what she’d do on a card that isn’t blank?”  
  
“Why do you have Backgammon, you know we don’t know how to play that.”  
  
“This wasn’t to buy, it was to show you.” They walk around putting the Pokémon cards and Backgammon back.  
  
“I’ve come to the realization you guys don’t have a chess board in your apartment.”  
  
“We’re too dumb for chess, we have like three checkers boards through.” Clint nods in agreement. “I wish they sold checkers pieces without the board. That way we don’t have to keep buying new sets.”  
  
Shuri looks them over, putting the chess board in her basket. “Maybe you three should just be more careful.”  
  
“Yeah, but you know that’s not gonna happen.” She chuckles. “By the way... you looking to play chess by yourself?”  
  
“No.” She rolls her eyes. “I have three brothers, I’m sure one of them would be willing to play. Or Baba would like to. He’s all for strategies.”  
  
“What’s your dad do again?” Shuri pauses, like she always does. James knows her dad is a big deal in Wakanda and, evidently, the United States who came to talk about a rare metal solely found in Wakanda called vibranium. He knows Shuri has three older half-brothers; well, _two_ older half-brothers and one older adopted brother. That’s pretty much all he knows.  
  
“Baba does diplomatic things.” Is the usual reply. “Wakanda’s been closed off from the rest of the world for far too long. I would never have met you two or Natasha if he chose to keep things as they were.” Clint and James bat their eyelashes at her.  
  
“Can we meet your dad or any of your brothers?”  
  
Shuri gives Clint an odd look before nodding slowly. “Baba does ask to meet my friends. Perhaps you can meet him when you cook?”  
  
“That’s way too much pressure.” James replies. “You’re setting us up for failure. We’ll get all nervous then fuck up your meal. Your dad will probably never wants us around you.”  
  
“It will not be that serious. Besides, I have confidence in your cooking prowess.”  
  
☕☕☕☕  
  
Natasha looks at her phone at the picture of Clint holding up a Captain America hoodie. Shaking her head, she replies to his text. _‘You guys went there without me? If I see mouse trap I’m breaking it.’  
  
‘No mouse trap.’_ Is James’ reply, _‘but we got other good merch.’_ Natasha hums. She needs to see just what “merch” they’re talking about. Those two cannot be left unsupervised. She did see Shuri in the background of Clint's picture, so thankfully they weren't alone.  
  
“I can’t imagine how bored you must be.” Howard says putting a drink next to her, then sitting down in front of her. “Remind me to double my original offer.”  
  
The redhead props her chin up with her fist then grabs her drink with the other hand. “What makes you think I’m bored?”  
  
“You’ve been texting for the past hour, playing Pokémon Shuffle before that, and numerous people saw you taking pictures of cheese plates.”  
  
“Maybe I’m fascinated by cheese?”  
  
“No one is _that_ fascinated with cheese. And even if you were, it doesn’t explain the other two things.”  
  
“Got me there.” She takes a sip of her drink. Damn, it’s non-alcoholic. He must be onto her.  
  
“Want to cut the weekend short? I’ll survive my wife’s taunting. I’ve survived years of it.”  
  
“Boredom is one of the things I signed up for.”  
  
“As boring as you think today is, tomorrow will be ten times worse.”  
  
“Looking forward to it.” She raises her glass in a salute. “It isn’t even nine.”  
  
“They can squeeze in a lot of boredom in fifteen minutes.” That is something Natasha does not want to see. She’s been here for hours already. The most interesting thing she’s seen so far (aside from the various cheeses) was a younger looking gentlemen puking his guts out. Across from him sat Howard’s son, with a smug look on his face. But that had been three hours ago. Before the cheese platters.  
  
“Howard Stark.” Howard glances up at the tall, white-haired man with an eye-patch over his left eye. Natasha _needs_ to take a picture of him. She’ll hit the weirdness bingo for sure. Not just for the eye-patch because Clint’s co-worker has one, pulls it off quite nicely, and won’t give up the goods on why he wears it. The man’s easily close to pushing seven feet and his guards (?) are almost as tall as he is. However, the weirdest thing of all his the man’s armor. “Pleasure meeting you, at last.” Howard stands shaking the man’s hand. “I am Odin Borson, I wish to do business as it were.” Howard eyes Natasha who shrugs. Since Natasha already has her phone out it doesn’t take much to subtly take Odin’s picture. One of Odin’s guards takes Howard’s seat. “My son, Thor, shall keep you company.”  
  
“Thanks?” Natasha replies. Odin nods then walks away with Howard and his other two guards. Natasha stares at her new company. A tall blond, free of eye-patches and armor like Odin.  
  
He extends his hand. “I am Thor, it is an honor to meet you.” Then he kisses her hand like one of those old films. It’s kinda cute.  
  
“Natasha. Likewise. Odin’s your dad, huh? Big guy. Sure can grow ‘em.”  
  
“Aye.” Thor agrees, “he is a fine warrior even in his age.”  
  
“Warrior?” Thor nods. “I don’t recognize your accent. Where are you guys from?”  
  
“I was told my birthplace is Norway.”  
  
100% Norwegian beef? Good to know. Another picture she needs to take. Thor’s biceps are just as big as Clint’s, and Clint’s easily seventy-five, eighty pounds lighter than this guy (it _might_ be an exaggeration, but Thor’s definitely at least fifty pounds bigger). Fella’s all solid muscle regardless. He’s one flex away from popping the buttons off his shirt. Now _that_ is something Natasha wants to see. Scratch that, it’s something she not only wants to see but record. “How long have you been here? In New York?”  
  
“A fortnight.”  
  
Fortnight? Fortnight. What is that? She takes a glimpse at her phone and googles the word all the while smiling at Thor. Multitasking kicks ass. Ah. Got it. Fortnight means two weeks. While she’s at it, she looks up Norway. It’s best to be prepared. She looks back at Thor. “A fortnight isn’t long enough to see the sights. Watch a Mets game or Yankees if you prefer. It’s April, so I think basketball is almost done.”  
  
“Are you from New York?”  
  
“I’m originally from Russia, but I reside—” Perfect. Use big words just like he does, “in New Jersey.”  
  
“And how long have you been residing in New Jersey?”  
  
“Almost eight years.” Thor nods thoughtfully. “How long are you guys staying?”  
  
“That all depends on father’s business deal with Mr. Stark. Well, I wish to stay longer to take in the sights as you say. Everything about this state is a learning experience.”  
  
“I feel the same way. You know what we need? Drinks. Come on, it’s an open bar.” Thor nods then gets up – and Natasha sees how fucking tall he is – following her to the bar. Thor’s not as tall as Odin, but he’s almost a foot taller than she is. Natasha’s never taken down a giant Odin’s size, but she fought a guy as big as Thor and lived to tell the tale. Although, Clint and James were there to help. Not much, but they helped.  
  
There’s a different bartender behind the bar this time. In the five hours she’s been here they switched nine bartenders. She lost track of Pepper after bartender number five.  
  
“Didn’t expect you to be back so soon.” The bartender greets, “another adios motherfucker?” Natasha nods, “and what about you, sir?”  
  
“I will have the same.”  
  
“Excellent choice.” Over the hours when she wasn’t kicking ass in pokémon shuffle, Natasha’s made the small talk with the bartenders. They’re probably the only people here not silently judging her. Or openly judging her. Rich people just don’t give a fuck. Oh well, neither does she.  
  
“Have you ventured to the casino?” Thor asks, apropos to nothing.  
  
“I didn’t think they had a casino.” She thanks the bartender as he puts their drinks on napkins in front of them before dealing with another customer.  
  
“Aye. I merely caught a glimpse of it, but I intend on seeing more.” He downs his drink in one gulp, “shall we?”  
  
Natasha knocks her back then puts it back on the napkin, “we shall.”

One would never think they put a casino in this building. In fact, Nat walked around this area twice and didn’t suspect a thing. Although, she knew _something_ had to be behind these doors for the perfume and cigar smoke to be headier.  
  
It’s a good thing she brought her I.D., because the guards card her and Thor as soon as they step in the room.  
  
Hmm, if she turns a profit this evening she could pay her phone bill a little early this month instead of cutting it close, like always. The real question was, whose game was she going to throw off in this dress?  
  
Her dress starts slightly above her cleavage and cuts off right under her knees because it’s too big, but it was the only dress on sale. On the plus side, the length makes it easy to hide her favorite dagger on her thigh holster. Fortunately, James managed to bring the dress in enough so it doesn’t look like she’s a five-year-old playing dress up with her бабушка’s favorite gown. Not that she ever had a бабушка.  
  
Thor starts off at the slots and Natasha leans on his chair. Out the corner of her eye, she sees a few guys checking her out – but they’re at the penny slots so they’re no use to her. She needs twenty dollar slot players, those big shots that sit at the tables with their fancy drinks with the tiny umbrellas - those are her prey tonight.  
  
“Are you certain you do not wish to sit?”  
  
Natasha looks down at him. He reminds her of an overgrown puppy; same breed as Clint but bigger. “I’m good.” She looks around and her eyes land on that guy who was puking for five straight minutes earlier. Perfect. He looks like the objectifying asshat she’s gonna rob blind. “Thor.” She taps him on the shoulder – damn are they broad. But that’s not important. Though they are distracting, “let’s hit the tables.”  
  
Thor cashes out the twenty bucks he won. Lucky bastard. He put in a max of ten cents! Next he’s gonna start telling people he’s a natural blond. Or that he barely works out to maintain those delts. _Or_ his excellent bone structure is genetic – wait a minute, that one might be a possibility.  
  
The table starts to clear but Mr. I’m Gonna Wear Ratty Sneakers With My Expensive Suit To Try And Make A Statement, is still there. The dealer waves them over, “fancy meeting you here, stranger.” She leans over giving Nat a hug. “Playing with the grown folks now?” She looks up at Thor and her eyes widen.  
  
“I thought you worked at Atlantic City? Did they kick you out?”  
  
“Hardly. I’m one of the many borrowed employees. The Starks pay very well.”  
  
“I hear ya.” Thor takes the seat beside her. Thankfully not on the side where her prey is, and speaking of which he’s looking in her direction. “Thor...” At his name, he turns to her. “This is Vanessa.”  
  
The dealer tips her hat with a wink. “Pleasure meeting you, Gorgeous.” She says shaking Thor’s hand mouthing _“wow”_ to Natasha who nods. “Wanna get in on this game?”  
  
“Is she even allowed to play?” So, the prey makes the first move. Bold. “How do I know you won’t cheat for her? You two seem like good friends.”  
  
“You doubt my integrity?”  
  
“You’re a dealer in a casino, you have no integrity.” He slides in the stool next to Nat. “And some ‘girl code’ or whatever will make you help out your buddy.”  
  
“Girl code?” Vanessa laughs, “how cute. If you lose money, it’ll be because you suck not because I’m helping a friend.”  
  
“Are you allowed to talk to paying customers like that?”  
  
“Sweetheart, I’m allowed to talk to you however I choose.” The guy narrows his eyes at the dealer, “minimum bet’s $5, Tash.” Natasha bites her lip. She came here with fourteen dollars in her clutch. Part of Howard’s last-minute deal was him providing sustenance and transportation to and from the event. Nowhere in the contract said anything about gambling inclusive in the amenities. Being poor sucks. She got half her payment upfront but that was for bills, not gambling. She might be able to spend eight dollars out of it and not have to worry about scrounging up change, and that’s only if her math is correct.  
  
“I’m in.” She reaches for her clutch but Thor puts a hand over hers.  
  
“I will get this round.” He whispers.  
  
“I don’t need charity.” She whispers back, though it comes out more like a hiss, berating her pride because she needs any extra cash she gets.  
  
“It is not a charity, it is a gift.” Thor takes out a twenty handing it to the dealer who provides them with the proper amount of chips. Natasha gets one chip and Thor gets three. Each tiny chip has a five dollar symbol on it, “besides, I do not have change.”  
  
“Lead with that next time.” Big Shot Moneybags has twenty chips and he keeps picking the top one up then dropping it on his pile like the annoying, arrogant fucker he appears to be.  
  
“Game’s Blackjack folks.” A few more people take seats and Vanessa gives them chips in exchange for cash. “First to twenty-one wins; one round, winner gets the pot. Beat the dealer, that’s me, before the last card is placed and no one hits twenty-one and the whole table wins – unless you bust. However, if I twenty-one before any of you bye-bye goes your funds. Place your bets now, folks.” Everyone seems to just carelessly toss bundles of chips in front of them. Fucking rich pricks...  
  
Vanessa starts shuffling the decks then deals to everyone face up but gives herself a face up ten of hearts, which makes things tricky, and a face down card. Natasha eyes her cards: an ace of spades and a four of diamonds. Seriously? What the fuck? She takes a glimpse at Thor who is frowning at his cards; he has two three of clubs. Weird.  
  
Fancy Suit beside her grins then blatantly looks her over. His two cards are a seven of clubs and a seven of hearts. Rolling her eyes, Natasha returns her attention to Vanessa.  
  
“Hit me.” Moneybags says tapping the table. The bastard gets a three of hearts. The other players are saying things but Natasha’s hardly paying attention.  
  
Thor makes an odd decision to stay – when his total is six. Is it a strategy or does he not know what he’s doing?  
  
Natasha eyes her cards again then taps the table. Vanessa gives her a six of clubs. Wait a minute. Six plus four is... holy shit, she has twenty-one! ~~Not bad for someone who’s never played Blackjack with actual people before.  
~~  
“Winner!” Vanessa calls out flipping her own card, which was a jack of spades. Son of a bitch, she had twenty, “21 goes to Red.”  
  
“I knew you’d cheat.”  
  
“You saw me deal everything face up, how did I cheat?”  
  
“Is there a problem?” The guy gulps as a man the size of Thor appears behind Vanessa.  
  
“No man, no problem.” The guard gives fancy suit guy the once over before disappearing.  
  
“You get the pot, doll.” She was the only one poor enough to take the minimum bet; the game had six players total. Vanessa counts the chips and she has fifty-three. Five multiplied by fifty-three equals... let’s see five times three is fifteen, carry the one... She’s looking at two-hundred sixty-five dollars?! Funny. She would’ve figured they’d put up more than that. “Double or nothing? Just you and me.”  
  
“Hell no.” Vanessa chuckles. “Where do I cash my chips?”  
  
Vanessa jerks her head toward the sign that says _Exchanges_. “I’ll text you.” Natasha gives a two-fingered salute. Thor offers to carry her three cups full of chips, so she lets him. Damn, he’s such a gentleman.  
  
“I still think you cheated.” The prey says walking beside her. “But I have no proof and that guard was terrifying.” He jerks his head toward another table, “let’s play a game where you don’t know the dealer.”  
  
After she cashes her chips (the damn cashier gives her small bills because he claims they ran out of fifties), they head to a craps table. A small boisterous crowd surrounds someone. Upon closer inspection Natasha sees it’s Howard’s son, Tony. This should be fun. No reason why she can’t take money from two Starks tonight.  
  
Natasha saunters up to him squeezing through the crowd while keeping an arm on Thor – not that one could lose him in a crowd. The blond’s towering over everyone. Except one guy in the corner separated from the crowd and the bouncer from earlier. “Ah. Natalia.” He looks her over, “does Howard know you’re here?”  
  
“Does Howard know you’re here?”  
  
“I think I’m past the age where I ask my dad for permission.” Natasha hums, “so I gotta ask. Daddy kink? Rough childhood? Horrible taste in men? Why are you fucking my dad?”  
  
“Haven’t fucked him yet, don’t know if he’s into pegging.” Tony visibly shudders. Natasha licks her lips, “jealous?”  
  
“Truthfully? Hell yes. My _father_ can bag a girl like you and I had to bribe my shared assistant to come here.” Tony sighs, “so much Louis Vuitton, but the girl’s got taste.”  
  
Natasha picks up the dice, “blow on my dice?”  
  
“Wouldn’t that be my line? Although, there are other things I’d prefer to be blown. Just not by my dad’s date.” He leans closer to her hand to blow on her dice. He squints at her when he stands up straight, “your eyes have specs of blue in them.”  
  
Thor _loudly_ clears his throat. “Right.” She pats on his muscular chest. Damn this guy is unfairly buff. “This is Thor.” She rolls the dice and the crowd cheers when she gets an eleven.  
  
“My lips are good luck.” Tony waggles his eyebrows, “Tony.” He says to Thor, awkwardly shaking his hand. “Fuck, you are tall. Did you trade my dad for this tall, handsome fella? Can’t say I blame you. I’d jump on that.” Natasha smirks. “Come on. Would any sex-having person not wanna hold onto those thighs and ride ‘em like a mechanical bull?” Thor did have grabbable thighs clearly visible through his slacks.  
  
“My father has business to attend to with your father.”  
  
“And you’re keeping Dad’s date company? That’s so sweet.” Tony squints up at him, “did they grow you in a factory?”  
  
“I don’t believe this!” Oh, Natasha forgot about him.  
  
“Zeke!” Tony grins, “you saw? Red’s on a hot streak.” The guy— _Zeke—_ narrows his eyes at them. “Want me to blow again?”  
  
Natasha holds up the dice, “go for it.”  
  
When Natasha rolls the dice and the first one lands on a three the crowd collectively gasps. The second die seems like it’s moving in slow motion before it falls on four. Then the crowd begins cheering.  
  
“Anthony.” The brunet jerks his head toward Zeke, “a word?”  
  
“Don’t roll without your good luck charm.” Natasha rolls her eyes then shoos him away. “What’s up?” Tony asks when they’re out of an earshot from the crowd.  
  
“I don’t trust that...” He exhales deeply. “She knew one of the dealers.”  
  
“So? I know a couple of dealers here.” Tony clicks his tongue, “you think she’s cheating? Doubt it. She came here with my dad, any money she’s winning she’s earning.”  
  
“ _Your_ dad? Fuck, she beats my dad’s date.” Zeke massages the crease between his eyebrows. “Anyway, you’d better get back, but we’re playing poker after this.”  
  
“Can’t wait!” Tony says heading into the crowd. “Hey, where did Red go?”  
  
“She said she didn’t wanna over... something.” One of the girls says, “I don’t remember. Anyway, she went to cash in her chips.”  
  
He sees the red hair and the giant golden retriever glued to her side on the _Exchanges_ line. “I thought I asked you to wait.” He says leaning against the wall, ignoring Thor staring impassively at him. The guy doesn’t need to stare to intimidate, his height does that naturally.  
  
“I won five hundred and twenty-seven dollars from Craps alone; I’m not about to lose that.”  
  
“How much did you win in total?”  
  
“Seven-hundred and none of your fucking business.” She smiles sweetly at him, batting her eyelashes.  
  
“You’re just cutthroat aren’t you?” The redhead shrugs, “I bet my dad was happy as hell when you two first met, huh? Barely concealed amusement too.”  
  
Natasha smirks, “you enjoy the sound of your voice, don’t you?”  
  
“Guilty as charged.” The cashier, a different one, also gives her small bills. She’s gonna run out of room in her wallet soon. “Zeke wants us to play poker with him.”  
  
“I’m not...” Thor nudges her then whispers in her ear, “fine.” She sighs, “lead the way.”  
  
Unlike the last few dealers, this one is all business. He hands out the cards with no banter. They sit at the table eyeing their cards and Thor’s contorting his face every few seconds. It actually looks rather painful. Bad poker face or psyching out the competition? Natasha suspects the former, yet does not discredit the latter.


	2. Drink # 2 - between the sheets

James awakens to a loud bang then an “ _Aw, batteries_ ” from Clint. Yawning, he gets out of bed trudging to the kitchen where the blond is sitting on the counter, staring morosely at his hearing aids in his hands. Shit. He’s not proficient enough with ASL to communicate with the blond when he has no audio. James knows the letters – can sign ‘em like a pro – but he’s yet to learn sentences aside from _“what time is it?”_ His Russian isn’t fairing any better.  
  
Nat grew up speaking Russian and occasionally slips the Russian swear every now and again. Clint lost his hearing before kindergarten so he’s known ASL for some time; he also stated his first languages spoken were Yiddish and Italian because his mother taught him and his brother. Thanks to high school, James is semi-bilingual. Since the “usual” foreign language classes (French and Spanish) were taken, he took up German. Taking that language has come through for him in the strangest of ways.  
  
Point is: why wouldn’t they want to learn one another’s languages?  
  
You get to curse people out in four extra languages!  
  
Well, James is still trying to learn swear words in ASL.  
  
There’s another bang. Clint’s now foraging for either batteries or spare hearing aids. James is about to help him when the front door opens slowly. It can’t be Nat, she isn’t due home yet (unless her date went terribly. Wouldn’t be the first time). He left his phone in the bedroom and there aren’t any clocks in the vicinity. If someone called ahead saying they’d stop by, he wouldn’t know. Not that anyone ever does. Their four collective family members own keys to this shithole, but with their shitty locks and lack of valuables, the apartment’s usually unlocked if someone’s in it. Not that many people frequent the apartment anyway.  
  
His mother and niece enter the apartment carrying bags. James can’t think of anything he’s done wrong to warrant a visit from her. “Hey, mom.” He helps her carry some bags to the kitchen counter.  
  
“Don’t you _hey mom_ me, James.” He gulps. Perhaps he did do something wrong? But what? He hasn’t spoken to her in two, maybe three, days and she doesn’t get pissed until the five day mark. Not that he would ever willingly not call her before then. It only happened once and he’s scarred for life. The last time they spoke on the phone, he told her about their grocery run. Groceries consisting of: three boxes of Eggo waffles – blueberry, strawberry and homestyle; thirteen boxes of Pop Tarts – various flavors, two gallons of orange juice and a tub of cake batter ice cream. They couldn’t get coffee since they went to the grocery store that doesn’t “advise” the consumption of caffeinated beverages, before getting banned from there too. How many sexist assclowns will Nat beat up before she’s satisfied? Anyway, his mother cursed him out then and he thought it was the end of the grocery conversation. Apparently, he was wrong.  
  
Lila shakes her head at him and he resists the urge to glare.  
  
The Rhodes’ were hardly wealthy but they were pretty well off. Not living completely paycheck to paycheck but James left so he wouldn’t be in situations like this. Depending on his mother, giving her an extra mouth to feed (or three extra mouths in his case). “Ma, I appreciate this but—” He rubs the back of his neck, trailing off when he sees his mother walk over to Clint with a tiny box. Damn mother’s intuition. She came all the way to New Jersey because her unofficially adopted baby needed new hearing aids/batteries. His mother pretty much adopted Clint and Natasha exactly one week after she met them. One week. That’s faster than any other friend James made in his life. She must’ve instantly seen how terrible the two of them were. Like his other friends, they refer to her as mama. It was scientifically impossible to dislike Roberta Rhodes. Unless you were a racist.  
  
Clint had a mother until he was four or five (or six?) and Natasha never had one at all. It was any mother’s dream come true. Mother the poor, unfortunate, misguided souls without parental guidance? Nat has an adopted father but no one would consider that guy for guidance. Ever. He’s the reason Natasha ended up with the ninja, assassin ballerinas in the first place. Roberta had two children biologically and her relationship with Jeanette is estranged so... the opportunity to feed two new mouths? How could she say no? Especially since her “babies” were severely malnourished. They probably were, they can hardly afford luxury meals – or even TV dinners. ~~And even if they could, most TV dinners are disgusting.~~  
  
“All good.” Clint says beaming, “thanks, mama.” His mom hugs Clint, then slaps him upside his head. “Oww...”  
  
“Next time, don’t run out of spares. You hear me?” He nods furiously. Roberta looks around, eyes narrowing. “Where’s my ballerina?” No one but Roberta Rhodes could get away with addressing Natasha that way. Hell, James is sure she’s never called Natasha by her given name. There’s always a nickname for her. Nat will never admit it but she’s especially afraid of his mom after teaching her some of those ballerina ninja moves. In all fairness, no one expected Roberta to get them so easily.  
  
“On a date.” Clint replies rubbing his head.  
  
“Date?” Clint meets his eyes and James waves his arms in an X. He stops when his mother turns to him. “What aren’t you two telling me?”  
  
“Nothing, ma. What’s in the bags?” Deflect. It’ll save him from an ass-whooping or, even worse, a _talking to_. He mentally shudders. His mother scolding him was the worst.  
  
“Actual groceries.” James sighs. Hopefully Nat paid the electric bill or things would get a hell of a lot more terrible than they already are. ~~But they won’t cut the electricity off on a Sunday. James knows that from experience.~~ “None of that canned mess.” She and Lila start packing everything away. They’ve been here enough times to know where everything goes. In fact, Lila’s the one who repacked the shelves – not that they ever contained ~~m~~ any groceries anyway. “Since you three want to get banned from every establishment in the surrounding area.”  
  
“Ma—”  
  
“Are you still in your pajamas?” Clint and James share a look then the two of them make an about face heading to their room. The reason their place is so cheap is because it only has one bedroom – one gigantic bedroom, but still only one bedroom. One bathroom too. Sharing a bed when Nat was trying her best to avoid them had her always up before them and in bed when they were asleep or sometimes sleeping on the couch. Because James is a light sleeper he felt every dip in the bed whenever Natasha came in or left. Sometimes he also felt her snuggle closer – unconsciously of course. It didn’t take long to discover Natasha enjoys being the big spoon. Who are they to deny her?  
  
Sharing the shower not only saved money, but it assured all of them getting hot water in the morning. Most of the time. The water’s unpredictable.  
  
After a quick shower, they return to the kitchen where Roberta has a damn buffet waiting. Shit, James knew he shouldn’t have left. “Ma—”  
  
“The oven works?” Clint exclaims. James pauses to consider this. The damn stove hardly worked half the time, so they bought one of those electric burners that took two and half hours to boil a pot of water on full power. (Not an exaggeration.) After the oven started spewing smog _when it was off_ , they never bothered to open it again. Who knew it actually worked? They don’t even own a microwave. Why else would they buy thirteen boxes of Pop Tarts? Other than the convenience of having them ready at a moment’s notice. The only appliance good to them is the toaster. The refrigerator has off days more often than good days.  
  
Roberta shakes her head, “you three should be ashamed of yourselves.”  
  
Clint peers up from his half eaten plate. James does a double take because when did he move? “Thanks, mama.” He says, mid face-stuffing then goes back to it.  
  
James sighs, “yeah, thanks, mom.” Roberta grunts. She’s spending too much time with Natasha.  
  
“Did Red tell you when she’ll be back?”  
  
“Tomorrow.” Nat’s “date” started Saturday afternoon and ends Monday afternoon. That’s technically two days, isn’t it? The last text she sent them was from four in the morning where she was beside half of what is probably a very tall person, a somewhat familiar brunet, and... was that Virginia Potts from English 101?  
  
She was probably relishing in a one-person shower and the fluffy hotel towels. Hell, she was relishing in all the amenities: spa, massages, bubble baths, the works. Her text said greetings from Safehouse Suites Manhattan followed by “can you believe this room cost 4Gs?” Then she sent a flurry of pictures of her room. That shit is nice, but one night costs more than their monthly rent. Costs more than three months rent.  
  
They eat in silence for four minutes and forty-two seconds before: “Did she actually go through with the sugar baby thing?” James promptly chokes on his french toast and Clint pats him on the back. Roberta’s eyes cut to Clint, “are you part of it?”  
  
“No. Well, not yet.” She raises an eyebrow, “I don’t photograph well.”  
  
“All you need is proper lighting, sweetie.” She pats him on the leg. “Luckily I brought my make-up kit.”  
  
“Mama...” James begins, wearily, “you’re okay with it? You know I’m doing it too, right? I have a date later today.”  
  
Roberta hums. “Well, I wouldn’t say I’m _okay_ but I’m not completely against it. Either way, I’m not going to stop you.” James lets out a huge sigh of relief. If his mom forbids their newest/biggest source of income they’re screwed. “Besides, I spoke to Ms. Grant weeks ago.”  
  
“Huh?”  
  
“You butt dialed me when you were talking to her about it.” James facepalms while Clint and Lila snicker. “Honey, there are far worse things you can be doing than accompanying rich folk. Half of them are too old to get it up anyway. Speaking of old, how old is her date?”  
  
“What was it?” James turns to Clint, “fifty-four?” The blond nods.  
  
“So, twice her age pretty much? No, she’s only twenty-one. He’s more than twice her age. Who is it? I assume they told you?”  
  
“Howard Stark.”  
  
Roberta furrows her eyebrows but Lila’s eyes widen in recognition. “Owner of Stark Industries and creator of Stark Tech, Howard Stark?” Clint and James nod. “Holy s—” She clears her throat then coughs loudly as Roberta stares at her.  
  
She frowns turning back to James. “In layman’s terms: he’s a rich, old white man with no business accompanying a twenty-one year old other than to piss off an ex-wife?”  
  
“More or less.” Clint replies.  
  
“I know she can take care of herself...” A pause, “but she brought her dagger, right? Just in case? Nobody’s gonna lay a finger on—”  
  
“Yes, ma.”  
  
“Jim convinced her not to take the gun though.”  
  
Roberta sighs, shaking her head. “Wait! I’m the bad guy? Nat took down a guy twice her weight the other day with just one leg! She doesn’t need a firearm! The place probably forbids weapons anyway.”  
  
“If they did, Nat would’ve been back yesterday.”  
  
“She’s been gone since yesterday?” James glares at Clint who shrugs with a smile then goes back to ...when did he get seconds? “Did you check in with her?”  
  
“Yes, mama. She’s been texting us throughout the night and they didn’t even stay in the same hotel room. Didn’t even stay in the same hotel.”  
  
“Is that so? Well, then she won’t mind a call?”  
  
“Are you allowed to take calls while doing that?” Clint whispers and James shrugs.  
  
☕☕☕☕  
  
Natasha awoke to the sound of _Careless Whisper_ coming from her phone. ~~Why she let Clint choose her ringtones she’ll never know.~~ Sighing, she rolls over and checks her phone then sits up immediately. “Hello?” She listens to the voice of Mama Rhodes on the other end. A voice that has yet to scold her. If they got her in trouble, she’s coming for both of them. This having an acting mother thing is terrifying. The ballerinas were far from nurturing. “Huh? N-No, I’m fine.” She looks around the room until she hears a knock on the door. “Uh, mama, I gotta go.” Natasha grimaces, “uh-huh. Okay, bye.” Once she made sure she hung up, she sighs in relief. At least she’s not in trouble.  
  
Cracking her knuckles, she grabs the towel sprawled out on the bed. It would be a complete waste not to sleep in this comfortable bed naked. These sheets were like butter.  
  
Shaking her head, she slips the robe on and ties it closed then goes to the door. Tony is on the other side of the peephole. Weird. She opens the door slightly, not bothering to take off the lock. “What do you want?”  
  
“Good morning to you too, Sunshine!” She narrows her eyes. “Shake a leg, Red, we got business.”  
  
“Business?”  
  
“Yeah, I hate tearing you away from your fancy hotel room but checkout is 10:30.” Natasha’s about to check the time on her phone when Tony sighs, “look. I’ll level with you. You’re fun. Pepper likes you and she’s a good judge of characters. Plus, you are nothing like Howard’s usual... dates.”  
  
“Is any of this supposed to mean something to me?”  
  
“It means get your pretty ass out of the hotel room before your pay gets docked.”  
  
“Can I at least take a shower?”  
  
Tony checks his phone, “you got twenty minutes.” Sighing loudly, she closes the door in Tony’s face.  
  
After a shower she’s sure _didn’t_ use up all the hot water, she grabs spare outfit # 1: a pair of jeans and a shirt she borrowed from Clint and puts it on. She snatches up the toiletries, because they were going to get thrown out anyway, but left the fancy towels and robe. She’s not a savage. Once she’s all packed, she exits the room. Tony’s in front of the room sitting on the floor tapping away on his phone. Natasha nudges him with her foot, “let’s go.”  
  
The brunet springs up, “great! We’re meeting Thor for breakfast. It’s hard to say no to that guy.”  
  
Tony checks her out of the hotel then hails a cab and it takes them to Stark Industries main building – something people confuse with Stark Tower. Natasha’s not one of those people because she of the small percentage of the world who didn’t realize either exists.  
  
Inside the building, they head to Conference Room A. Thor is sitting in one of the chairs next to another huge guy. “Ah.” He stands heading toward them, “you are the fair maiden Thor is smitten with.” Natasha extends her hand and this guy kisses it like Thor did yesterday. “I am Hercules.”  
  
“Like the Disney character?” Tony asks, shaking his hand next. Natasha _would_ roll her eyes, but she’s wondering the same thing.  
  
“Aye. We share a namesake.” Tony honest-to-goodness _giggles_. “Join us.” Tony’s still giggling when he sits next to Hercules. Natasha takes a seat next to Thor.  
  
“Good morning.” He greets.  
  
“You too. Your friend sure is lively.” Thor nods. Hercules and Tony are taking pictures together. “What are we doing here?”  
  
“I believe we are waiting for the others, then we are to eat.” Damn, her poorness is showing. Here she is in an oversized t-shirt, her cleanest pair of sneakers, and non-ripped jeans while Thor and Hercules are dressed to the nines in suits they’ll probably rip if they shift. Why hasn’t that happened yet? Maybe she can drop something in Thor’s direction and have the blond pick it up.  
  
Her duffel bag is beside her chair in case more fancy dressed individuals arrive. Not that she has another fancy outfit. Sighing, she taps her fingernails against the table. All this waiting is... unsettling.  
  
There’s _clattering_ coming from somewhere close by. She strapped her holster on her arm and with her shirt being too big you’d never she’s carrying three knives on her right bicep. Plus, she’s got the rest in her bag. Not including the dagger strapped to her left ankle.  
  
“Is something troubling you?”  
  
“Nope.” She replies, emphasizing the p. “Why do you ask?”  
  
“You have not stopped tapping.”  
  
Natasha’s reply is cut short when Odin, his giant bodyguards, Pepper, Howard, Elektra, Zeke, and who Natasha would hazard a guess and say is Obadiah approach the table in tandem. The relief on Pepper’s face is palpable. “Thor.” Odin greets, “I have not seen you in hours.”  
  
“I was...” Thor’s eyes cut to Natasha briefly then back to his father, “taking in the sights.” Odin glances in her direction, raises an eyebrow, then turns back to his son and nods curtly once.  
  
What the fuck does that mean?  
  
Pepper almost immediately takes the empty seat beside her.  
  
“The caterers are almost finished.” The bald guy announces.  
  
Caterers? That means buffet-style, which means all the randos are gonna touch _everything_. That thought alone is unappetizing. The only people Natasha will eat off of are her roommates and neither James nor Clint are in this room. And it took weeks before she was comfortable enough with them, even after sharing the bed, to subconsciously reach over to their plates and grab some food. If she doesn’t get to the food first, she won’t be able to eat it at all.  
  
“Are you okay?” Pepper whispers.  
  
“Fine. Never better.” Pepper gives her a dubious, cursory look but says nothing more on the subject.  
  
It takes the caterers five more minutes to finish setting up in the connected room. Although Natasha gets to the line first, the amount of choices is overwhelming. They even have people making omelets on the spot! Might as well take a picture of that too. Not for the weirdness factor but the sheer amazement. She gets an omelet because she can actually see it being prepared in front of her and when will an opportunity like this happen again in her life? It’s packed full of all sorts of shit yet still folds nicely. She even puts mushrooms on the thing because she can’t get them at home with both James and Clint being allergic to them. It’s doubly hard being poor and not able to eat cheap foods without worrying about anaphylaxis. The amount of food allergies shared between them is staggering.  
  
Everyone else is piling a shitton of food on their plates (particularly Hercules) and Natasha’s certain all of them have seen this much food before and are either wasteful assholes or extremely hungry. Judging by the ravenous look in Hercules’s eyes, she suspects he’s the latter. Thor too. Pepper’s the only one with a reasonable plate – still has more food than her but it isn’t filled to the brim. But working with these people, being in their world, she’s sure Pepper’s used to this by now.  
  
By the time they get back to the table Odin, Howard, Obadiah and Odin’s bodyguards are gone. Except the one bodyguard on Thor’s left.  
  
“So Thor...” Elektra begins, she’s sitting across from his bodyguard, next to Zeke. “Are all Odin’s bodyguards women?” Everyone, not Thor or his bodyguard, turns to her. “I’ve been introduced to Sif, Karnilla, Cyra, Thundra, Gruenhilda, Amora, Titania, and Brunnhilde.” She counts on her fingers as she names them. “All women.”  
  
“Aye.” Thor replies stabbing his fork into his mountain of pancakes.  
  
“All aside from _you_ , right?” Tony asks blatantly looking the blond over. He switched seats so he’s across from Pepper instead of beside her. “Not judging or anything. Just curious.” Thor nods once. “I was trying to sneak out of my hotel room and one of your dad’s freakishly large bodyguards camped out in front of my room.”  
  
“Is that why you kept texting me?” Pepper asks.  
  
“Uh...”  
  
Thor lets out a hearty laugh, “you must be Pepper, then. Anthony—”  
  
“Tony.” The brunet interrupts petulantly.  
  
“Spoke highly of you.”  
  
“I really didn’t.”  
  
Pepper rolls her eyes then nods at Thor. “Yes, I’m Pepper.” She shakes Thor’s hand, behind Natasha’s hunched form, then blushes when he kisses her hand. “Oh. Wow.”  
  
Tony loudly clears his throat in a manner Thor did yesterday, then jerks his head toward the redhead on Thor’s other side, “who is this or was she named? By the way? Thundra is truly terrifying and taller than most humans I’ve seen.”  
  
“I am Angela and if you think Thundra is bad wait until I’m assigned to keep you in one place.” Tony gulps audibly.  
  
“Angela is my sister.” The whole table does a double take looking between Thor and Angela. “Half-sister.” Everyone nods, murmuring in understanding.  
  
“Hey, Big Guy, doesn’t it get emasculating having women protect you? Especially a sister?” Zeke shrinks back as Angela glares at him. “That answers that.”  
  
“Don’t be a douche, man. You’ve watched Xena before, haven’t you?”  
  
“ _That’s_ the reference you wanna make, Tony?”  
  
“Why not, Pep? Xena kicked ass. I got the series queued on Netflix.”  
  
“I am sure we all enjoyed the adventures of the warrior princess and her witty companion, but that is not what swayed Odin. The king of Wakanda has a group of all female bodyguards called the Dora Milaje. Watching them spar inspired him to change things for the better.”  
  
“So you used to have a bunch of large sweaty dudes protecting you?” Elektra asks. “How do you get them to grow so big?”  
  
“Your dad does business with Wakanda?” Zeke asks. “I heard they’re super exclusive.”  
  
“It is a country, not a club.” Angela shakes her head with a sigh. “And to answer your question, Elektra, we feast on the blood of our enemies.”  
  
“I thought that’s what it was.”  
  
“Please tell me you two are bullshitting me.” Tony pleads.  
  
“Yes, Stark.” Angela shakes her head again, “there is no one way to grow warriors but we are mostly tall due to genetics.” Everyone boos. “Which is why I stuck with my original answer.”  
  
“So, where do you come from?” Tony asks.  
  
Thor and Angela share a glance. “They’re not telling us.” Elektra says buttering her toast.  
  
“You’re awfully quiet.” Thor hears Pepper whisper. He spares a glimpse Natasha’s way. Honestly, if it were not for the faint smell of vanilla he would’ve forgotten she was beside him. The redhead has not uttered a sound since getting her food. A lone omelet sat on her plate – well the remnants of an omelet.  
  
The redhead’s cheeks are stuffed adorably as she nods at Pepper. As he returns his attention to his plate, Angela gives him a knowing look and a nod. “I don’t blame you for staring.” She whispers, “you might as well; before Odin decides you should have a betrothed.” That has Thor sigh heavily. He spares a glimpse at the redhead again. Either his eyes are playing tricks on him or her hair got longer. It’s flowing past her shoulders today when it was a few inches higher. Then again, he did notice various hair clips yesterday so perhaps she pinned it up slightly.  
  
“Do you think you can convince Odin to let us stay here longer?”  
  
“Why do I have to do it?”  
  
“You are clearly his favorite.” Angela rolls her eyes. “Favorite warrior. Favorite child. Shall I go on?”  
  
Angela sighs, “very well. I’ll convince him but you have to do something for me.”  
  
“And what would that be?”  
  
“It would be no fun letting you know now.”  
  
“You have nothing you wish for me to do.”  
  
“Not at the moment but I’ll certainly think of something.” She huffs, “it is times like this when I wish you had a younger sibling to know the torture you put me through.”  
  
☕☕☕☕  
  
“This everything?” Barney asks, putting the floor lamps in the corner then plugging them in.  
  
“Yes, thank you, Charles.”  
  
“Mrs. Rhodes—” She side-eyes him, “never mind.” He clears his throat, “this whole thing screams disaster. You gotta realize that. My baby brother is not photogenic. Lighting will not change that.”  
  
“You have no faith in your brother.” Roberta looks him over, “or yourself since you two have more similarities than differences.”  
  
“That’s just rude.” Barney folds his arms over his chest, “you know we’re only half-siblings?” Roberta turns to him, “it’s true. You know the stories of how terrible my dad was?” A nod, “Harold got snipped three years before Clint was born. My parents were swingers and with Harold shooting blanks, mom got knocked up by another guy resulting in the knucklehead you have before you.”  
  
“How do you know this?”  
  
“Diaries. Heard it during a fight. My mom actually told me once when she was drunk. Birth certificate dad didn’t sign. The intense hatred he had for my baby brother. A paternity test. The little things. Besides, the Bartons are all redheads.” He points to his hair. “Clint’s a natural blond, has freckles and he has heterochromia – two other genetic impossibilities from the Bartons.”  
  
“Do you know who Clint’s father is?”  
  
“Nope. It has to be some poor schmuck Harold definitely hated enough to take his anger out on the kid. But that’s not a lot to go on. He clearly hated himself since he took his anger out on me too.”  
  
“Why are you telling me this?”  
  
“Mrs. Rhodes, Roberta, you are the closest thing Clint’s ever had to a mother and that includes our birth mother. You’re the only person who took in that literal illegitimate bastard without question. I mean, you’re willing to waste your valuable time trying to get him to look decent in a picture for the first time in his life. You deserve to know everything there is to know.”  
  
“Well, that’s sweet of you, Barney.” The redhead smirks, “now go find something that brings out the grey in your brother’s eyes.” He salutes heading toward his closet.  
  
“Mama, what were you talking to Barney about?”  
  
“Genetics.” James eyes her warily. “Go give Red the heads up.” He nods slowly heading to the kitchen.  
  
After texting Natasha, James approaches Clint sprawled out on the floor. “You don’t know what your brother does on this floor, man.” Clint’s eyes meet his. “Put your hearing aids in.”  
  
Sighing, Clint sits up putting in his pink behind-the-ear hearing aids. “What’d you say?”  
  
“I said you don’t know what Barney does on this floor.” Clint grimaces, “don’t tell me you’re nervous?”  
  
“I don’t do pictures, Jim.” He runs a hand through his hair, “not only that but I don’t contribute my share with bills and—”  
  
“We are not having a pity party in your brother’s unsanitary apartment.” James takes a seat next to him, “you do what you can, man, that’s all anyone can ask for and doing this for three weeks doesn’t make us experts on this shit.”  
  
“Aren’t you gonna be late for your date?”  
  
“Nah. I got time. Besides, I need to see this in person. My mom works miracles but this’ll be a challenge even for her.” As Clint glares at him James smiles.  
  
“Here you go.” Barney deposits a grey turtleneck onto his brother’s head, “wear that.”  
  
“A turtleneck? I’m surprised it’s not black, Sterling.”  
  
“Say what you will about the turtleneck—”  
  
“Charles.”  
  
Barney winces, “okay, okay, I’ll get something better.” He picks up the turtleneck then stomps toward the closet.  
  
“I’m thinking short sleeves.” Roberta says with a nod, “it’ll show off his arms.”  
  
“I think he should keep ‘em covered.” Barney yells, “surprise the customers.”  
  
“True.” Roberta nods, “bring something fitted.”  
  
“Will do.”  
  
“I never understood you guys obsession with my arms.” James grabs his left bicep and squeezes. “I do archery. Not a big deal.”  
  
“Not in the apartment I hope.” Clint slowly turns to Roberta who sighs. “Just don’t put more holes in that place. I’m not even sure how it’s still in one piece.”  
  
Lila peers up from the laptop, “your arms are like one of the world’s unexplained mysteries. Oh and you should flex in your picture.” She looks back down at the screen. “Maybe just flex one arm, but don’t like you’re doing it on purpose.”  
  
Barney dumps a red long sleeve shirt on Clint’s head. “Tight but not too tight. Shows off the biceps with very little effort. Compliment his jeans.”  
  
“Well done, Barney. You managed to find a shirt for your brother.” He glares at Lila.  
  
Clint and James stand and Lila takes a glimpse above the screen as the blond peels off his shirt. Like most younger relatives, she too wasn’t immune to crushing on her uncle’s best friends. Was it her fault Natasha and Clint were unfairly, devastatingly attractive? James too, but that’s her blood uncle and she’s not into incest. She may view James’ friends like relatives, but they’re more like distant relatives.  
  
“Well?” Clint asks. As everyone just _stares_ , he frowns. “I don’t think that’s a good reaction.”  
  
“Short sleeves.” Is the collective reply. Barney tugs the shirt off his brother’s body then walks to the closet. He returns with a short sleeve brown shirt. Clint eyes the shirt then slips it on. After a few seconds everyone nods.  
  
Barney guides him to the table and puts him in a chair. “What now?”  
  
“Now we take pictures.” Roberta replies. “But what should he do in them?”  
  
“Eat. It’ll accidentally make him flex and accentuates his mouth.” Everyone turns to Lila. “Or you could not listen to the seven-year-old.”  
  
“Are you perving out on my little brother?”  
  
“No!” She scoffs, “I’m just making suggestions.”  
  
“About ac—what was the word? Ac-cent-u-ate. What does that even mean!? How old are you again?”  
  
“It means to bring attention to.” James replies, “and she’s kinda right. Not about the perving but—”  
  
“I was not perving!” James gives her a flat look, “I didn’t mean to perv.”  
  
“What’s the sexiest fruit out there?” Barney asks, “he needs to look hot and health conscious.”  
  
“Good. That’s good.” Roberta agrees, “look up fruits Clint isn’t allergic to but photograph well.”  
  
“Already on it, grandma.”  
  
“Well, all I got that he isn’t allergic to are plums, grapes, and apples.”  
  
“How many fruits is he allergic to?”  
  
“I honestly lost count. Stealing food was difficult since I never knew what would put him into anaphylactic shock.”  
  
“Try all of ‘em.” Clint eyes the fruit dubiously. “I brought your epi-pen just in case.” James reassures.  
  
Lila is behind the camera, James is in arm’s length yet not in the shot, Barney is beside Lila and Roberta is at the other end of the table also not in the shot. Clint hesitantly takes a bite of the plum first and the juices run down his face and everyone’s jaw drops but Lila somehow manages to snap a couple pictures through her shock.  
  
“Oh my God, is this food porn!?” Barney covers his eyes, then moves his middle and index fingers apart so he can look through them.  
  
“He’s a natural.” Roberta says shaking her head. Lila even takes a picture of the blond licking his lips. “Can we survive him making love to other fruits?”  
  
James takes a deep breath, “we’re gonna have to try. Try the grapes next, Clint.” Lila takes a picture of him wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. Damn, he should’ve been shirtless. The grapes are less of a mess but still pretty much food porn. Or actual porn featuring food.  
  
“Does he normally eat like this?” Roberta asks.  
  
“When he’s not stuffing his face? Yeah.” Barney replies, “I hoped it was something he could grow out of but I see it’s not.”  
  
James glances at the redhead. “He did this when he was a kid?”  
  
“You have no idea how many perverts I had to beat away when we were in the circus.”  
  
“Yet you left him there, alone, for five years.”  
  
“We’re not talking about _me_ , we’re talking about Clint.” The blond’s moved onto the apples now and although the juice is clear it’s still running down his mouth and arms. “If he doesn’t get at least ten offers within the week I will have lost all faith in humanity.” Everyone nods in agreement.  
  
Now that James thinks about it, Natasha eats in a similar manner: equal parts messy, equal parts sensual. James can’t even eat Popsicles anymore thanks to Natasha. The worst part about it is they don’t even realize they do it most of the time! Something about savoring food now due to not having as many choices growing up. ~~One of those tragic poor kids with shitty childhood stories they seem to have in spades.~~  
  
“Okay.” Lila begins, “I have the profile down, all I need is the picture.” Everyone hovers over the laptop looking at the pictures Lila uploaded from James’ camera. Including previously taken pictures of the three of them.  
  
“How do you know Clint’s weight?”  
  
“Focus, James.” Lila chides, “we need to find a picture for his main profile.” James scratches his head.  
  
“Hey, can you sign me up too? I’m more than willing to take money from the rich.”  
  
“Sure.” Lila replies, “I’ll set yours up after Clint’s.” She scrolls through the pictures, “any suggestions will be helpful.”  
  
_“I’m trying to decide between the plum juices and or the side profile with him on the phone and when was that picture taken?”_ Natasha says over speakerphone on James’ phone. James glances at Barney who shrugs.  
  
“We’re not interrupting your date, are we Tash?”  
  
_“Please. You guys are doing me a favor. Stuck in a room with all those...”_ She pauses. _“Hey what about the Popsicle one?”_  
  
The “Popsicle picture” has all three of them eating Bomb Pops. It happened right before their heat cut off. The damn thing either cranked full blast or didn’t work at all. Clint’s lips are red (all their lips are) and he’s wearing a grey a-shirt with shorts. If he weren’t squished between the two of them the picture might work. Wait a minute. Who the hell took this picture if the three of them are in it?!  
  
Clint has a bunch of other pictures where he’s practically fellating various foods. Not a single picture on the camera is one of Clint smiling. He’s either eating, frowning, or half asleep. Natasha took a few pictures of him asleep with drool on his pillow and everything.  
  
“Do you have a facial deformity? Why aren’t you ever smiling?” Clint looks up at his brother. “One-hundred thirty-two pictures of you and if your mouth isn’t open it’s in a frown.”  
  
“Nat’s not smiling in her picture.” It’s true. Natasha’s main picture has her arms crossed over her chest as she’s scowling. She might be glaring at the camera too.  
  
“You can’t pull off the sexy demon look Natasha has.”  
  
_“What?”_  
  
“We need a picture of him smiling.” Barney continues.  
  
“Why can’t we go with the food thing?”  
  
“We are.” Lila replies, “just not as your main picture. You have _a lot_ of images. If we can’t we always have the one of you asleep.”  
  
“Where he’s drooling?”  
  
“No.” Lila pulls up a different picture where Clint’s asleep at a desk. Half of his face and his hearing aid are visible.  
  
“Use that.”  
  
“Smile first.” The blond scowls at his brother. “I said smile, not _that_.”  
  
“Hey, I found a picture we could use.” Lila lets James scroll through the pictures and finds one with Clint with a short sleeve black shirt with his quiver on his back and an arrow in his bow.  
  
“That has a tiny subset of a smile on his face.”  
  
“You know subset but not accentuate?”  
  
“Leave me alone, kid, I barely graduated college.”  
  
“The barely noticeable smile is better than the confused, partially opened mouth face he usually wears.” To emphasize his point, James jerks his head toward Clint whose mouth is partially open accompanied by a dazed look on his face. “Besides, it shows off his arms and ass – what more could we want?”  
  
Barney hums with a nod, “I still want a full smile. Not that awkward half smile or the forced one, either.”  
  
_“You’ve known him longer than any of us combined. If anyone can get him to smile naturally, it should be you.”_  
  
Barney glowers at the phone. “In theory...” He mumbles then squints at the laptop. “Why is he covered in bandages in ninety percent of his pictures?”  
  
_“I gotta go.”_ Natasha announces before hanging up.  
  
Clint has a bandage on his cheek right now but the main profile picture they picked both his face and body are littered with bandages. Not only did he not outgrow his clumsiness, it got worse! Bandages are all over him in every picture. Some more than others but he has at least two bandages on his person in every picture.  
  
“You’re an accident prone little prick, aren’t you?” Clint glares at him. “I’m surprised you’ve never embedded an arrow in any part of your body in the sixteen years you’ve been doing archery.”  
  
“Sixteen years?” Lila hums, “no wonder he’s so buff.”  
  
James regards her briefly before turning to his roommate. “It’s your call, man. You can change your main profile picture anytime.” James’ eyes widen a fraction briefly before schooling his features. He just figured out a way to get Clint smiling naturally. Of course, he’s not going to disclose this to the others just yet. He needs to test his theory one more time to be certain.  
  
“Maybe we can take more pictures later?”  
  
“Sounds like a plan.” James pats him on the back, “I gotta get ready for my date.”  
  
Lila hands him the camera, “I uploaded all the pictures to my laptop’s cloud so—”  
  
“You can ogle my roommate at your convenience. I’m onto you, Lila.” The seven-year-old’s eyes dart around the room. “We got a bus to catch. Mama, have a safe ride back to Philly.” He kisses her on the check. Clint hugs her and Lila. Lila lingers on him a bit longer than Roberta does.  
  
“Call me, you hear me James?”  
  
“Yes, mama. I’ll call you.” He pries his niece away from his roommate.  
  
Barney only lives a ten minute drive/bus ride and hour long walk away, in a different part of Jersey, because he didn’t want to be “too far” from his baby brother. Note: This is the same individual who left his brother in a van of virtual strangers for months because had to “focus on himself first.” It’s also the same individual to leave his baby brother in the circus _years_ after he left with zero explanation. Then met up with him one day like everything was copacetic!  
  
He can’t help feeling a bit jealous of Clint and Barney’s relationship. If Barney can do all that terrible shit and still be in Clint’s life, James sees no reason why he can’t forgive little his sister for dumping Lila on them and bailing. Or any of the other horrific things she’s done in the past twenty years. Not that Jeanette ever attempted to contact them.  
  
They get home without incident and James informs his mother they arrived safely.  
  
“You do recon on your date?” James looks Clint over through the mirror. The blond’s sitting on the toilet tank lid rocking back and forth. ~~It’s a mystery why he doesn’t photograph well.~~  
  
“Yup.” He smooths out his shirt, “she’s only about a year or so older. Didn’t pay an outrageous amount of money to get a date.”  
  
“But still had to go on a website to get one.” When he looks back at Clint, the blond shrugs. “Not saying it’s a bad thing. I’d never wanna go meet people to get a date knowing this is an alternative.”  
  
“Are you gonna be alright by yourself?”  
  
“Shit, yeah, I’ll just veg out on the couch or whatever.” He waves James off, “don’t worry about me.” James shakes his head, ruffling Clint’s hair on his way out the bathroom. “No glove, no love, Rhodes.”  
  
James flips him the bird, “make sure you check the website, alright? I don’t know what the hell Lila did.”  
  
“Got it.”  
  
“See ya later.”  
  
Clint nods watching his roommate leave. Sighing, he gets off the toilet tank and heads to the living room. He’s peeling his shirt off halfway when the door opens. “Looking good, Barton.” If this were a sitcom, the applause indicator would light up. Their neighbor in apartment 419 closes the door behind him. Sam Wilson is an all-around good guy Clint is sure James is boning on a regular basis. Not that he can blame the guy. Either guy. “Is Jim here?”  
  
“You just missed him. Date stuff.” Clint calls out from the bedroom.  
  
“Date?” Sam cocks his head to the right, “sugar baby thing?” He leans against the doorway of the bedroom. Clint, leaning over the bed, utters something akin to the affirmative. “That shit’s hit or miss. My date yesterday got cut short when he went into anaphlyactic shock because he doesn’t classify shrimp as seafood. Not trying to sound insensitive but I’m glad I got paid beforehand.” Clint chuckles putting a shirt. “I’m also glad he didn’t die, obviously.”  
  
“You should’ve led with that.”  
  
Sam gives a one-shoulder shrug. “Hey, speaking of getting paid, I saw your profile.”  
  
Clint grimaces, “yeah?”  
  
“Why the face? You’re cute. All serious and statuesque. Your ass alone will have people wanting you as their sugar baby.” Clint rubs the back of his neck with a one-shoulder shrug. “If not, there’s always those pictures of you and your oral fixation with fruits and ice cream.” Clint groans and Sam laughs. “I actually saved an ice cream one onto my computer. Man, it was that filthy. And the videos? They were a nice touch.”  
  
“You didn’t?”  
  
“I did. Do me a favor and send me a copy of all those pics, videos included. Never noticed how dangerous your mouth can be for a person’s focus. Especially when it’s looped in a gif.” Sam laughs at the glare he’s getting. “Anyway, I just remembered something that has nothing to do with your mouth. A friend of my sister’s is looking for a dog walker. But it’s in Trenton.”  
  
“How far is that?” He walks out of the bedroom with Sam falling into step with him.  
  
“About an hour by car and who knows how long if you hoof it.” They plop down on the couch. “I’m trying to look for shit near here but the closest was Edison, which isn’t really close at all.” Clint whistles. “Yeah.” Sam agrees. “So, thanks to you, I got the damn Captain America movies on DVD.” Clint grins at him, “don’t give me that smug look. You’d better take full responsibility for it. I didn’t just by the regular DVDs either, I bought the special editions with all the bonus commentary.”  
  
“Is it the actors? Or the movies?”  
  
“That’s a tough one. The movies are entertaining and the lead actors are all hot, I won’t even lie. Gotta admit, Cap’s right-hand does it for me though. Excuse the innuendo. Guy’s looks like one of those wholesome goody-goody take home to mama types but is not-so secretly a freak.”  
  
“Like take him home to mama, he’ll fuck you on your childhood bed type of freak?”  
  
“Yes.” He fist bumps Clint. “I’m so glad you get me, man.” Sam grins, “hey. You know the actor’s biracial? They had a whole special on the soldiers behind Captain America and, of course, Cap himself. He’s Irish, Italian, African-American and a shitload of other things. Kinda like the hot guy from Legends Of Tomorrow.”  
  
“Seriously? I knew he was biracial, just didn’t know what he fully was— _is_.”  
  
“But that’s not even the best news of all. They’re making a Howling Commandos series.”  
  
“No.”  
  
Sam nods. “Yup.”  
  
“Same actors as the films?” Sam nods again. “Except what’s his face because he died before the last movie came out.”  
  
“Think they’ll replace him?”  
  
“Either that or they’ll kill his character off. Give ‘em one of those historic sendoffs and shit. Fuck it. I’d watch. The movies come out every two to three years anyway.”  
  
“Yeah. Who doesn’t want the opportunity to see more of the Commandos. Hell, meeting Cap...” Sam takes a deep breath. “Fuck, that would be a dream come true.”  
  
“Just Cap?” Clint asks with a grin.  
  
“Isaiah Bradley is my hero, okay? Plus, his character and I have the same name.” Clint raises an eyebrow, “no, I know that look, there’s a difference between hero worship fantasies and sex fantasies. Sure I have both with Cap but who doesn’t? He’s Captain America. And you’d better not ask me to choose between Isaiah and Steve.”  
  
“No, man. I’d never do that to you, it’s Captain America all the way. The comics got me through some dark shit..”  
  
“Same here.” Sam nods, “but I’m sure your stuff is more tragic. With your unconventional childhood.”  
  
“That might be the best way anyone’s ever phrased my shitty life.”  
  
“I aim to please. Either way, tragic soul or not. You know I got love for ya.”  
  
“Back at ya, Wilson.” Sam pats Clint on the back. “But in interest of curiosity...” Sam groans, “no wait, just hear me out—”  
  
“I can’t! I love both of them equally.” Clint chuckles, “to choose one would be unfair to the other.”  
  
“So you fantasize about both at the same time?”  
  
Sam pauses. “Well I didn’t before but now I might. Thanks, Clint.” The blond shrugs helplessly. “I mean, the whole cast are some of the most attractive people on the planet whose on-screen chemistry extends beyond the cameras.”  
  
“Plus, I’m eighty percent sure all the current Commandos fucked one another at some point between or during all three movies.”  
  
“As themselves or their characters?”  
  
“Both. No one even attempts to hide their bisexuality in or out of the films or their attractions to their co-stars. Also, I’m glad the movies never put in an unnecessary love... shape.”  
  
“Yeah, the Commandos are poly as hell. How else could they all be cordial with one another since someone’s always hinted at sleeping with someone else? It’s such a refreshing change from all the bullshit in theatres now. I needed this fucking series like yesterday.”  
  
“So you can ogle Cap?”  
  
“Fuck yes. Is there any other reason?” Clint chuckles. “Hey, would it be a long shot to hope they include Steve’s race in the series? They never coded him as any race in the movies. There are more mixed race and non-white Commandos than characters in the average series, including extras.”  
  
“You say that like there’s a full white Commando.”  
  
Sam just stares at him for a full thirty seconds. “Uh.” Huh. Oh! “Sharon Carter.” Clint shakes his head. “ _Shit_. You’re right. I forgot about that.” Nowhere did _anyone_ ever confirm or deny the rumors of Sharon Carter’s race; or _half_ her race. Her fanbase is split because of it. Some “fans” assume Sharon’s racially ambiguous mother just spent too much time tanning and has to be white because Sharon’s movie star father and aunt are fully white themselves. Not to mention the concept of interracial couples do not exist in the eyes of racist fucktards. “What about Kinney?” Clint shakes his head again. “Damn. What about the Original Commandos?”  
  
“I don’t think so. You said it yourself, it’s a refreshing change from the bullshit.”  
  
“I’m surprised social media hasn’t torn the movies a new one. Ten plus main characters of different races? It’s a miracle they got three movies out of it. I’ll be surprised if the series doesn’t get canned three episodes in.”  
  
“It’ll be fine. They’ll lose way too many fans. Have riots and shit.” Sam shrugs, “plus every pseudo-fan who hasn’t bothered with the interviews thinks Steve, second-in-command, is fully white with his blond hair and blue-green eyes.”  
  
“Ugh. Like blue or green eyes are a predominantly white trait. Ororo’s eyes are naturally blue yet she gets asked constantly if she’s wearing contacts. Or if she’s half-white. And don’t even get me started on her hair.”  
  
“She wears rubber bands on her wrists and snaps one whenever a customer asks her about her eyes, hair or race. Girl’s got more tolerance than me, I would’ve decked someone by now or cursed someone out.”  
  
“That’s what they’d want. She’s got the right approach. No matter how irritating or tiring.”  
  
Clint nods with a hum. “It sucks either way.” Sam nods in agreement. “Subject change. I found a Cap hoodie at Strange’s yesterday. A brand new one.”  
  
“Shut the fucking door. Seriously?”  
  
“Yeah. Come on, I’ll show you.”  
  
“Then we’re ordering take-out and ogling The Howling Commandos.”  
  
“Samuel, I wouldn’t have it any other way.”  
  
☕☕☕☕  
  
James R. Rhodes is currently fucking floored. His current date is none other than international television and film star Sharon Carter. Current co-leading actress in the Captain America movies – well the last two. The first one’s always the origin story. ~~In James’ unpopular opinion, the origin story was way more fleshed out than the second film. Didn’t feel as rushed. It also provided loads of spank bank material. Thank goodness for bar fights and shirtless scenes. Plus, there was that one scene where Bradley was only in his boxers. But none of that matters at the moment.~~ He didn’t think much of it when he saw the name. Sharon’s a pretty common given name and Carter’s a common surname. Lots of people could coincidentally have that name. ~~Or he could be catfished.~~ The Sharon in front of him has a red wig on but it’s either Sharon Carter or an incredible simulation. ~~He got starstruck either way.~~  
  
The “redhead” casually sips her martini. He made small talk, idle chatter, with Sharon Carter! He takes a picture for the shock factor. Not of her face, obviously, he’s not a cad – but he takes a picture. _A few_ pictures.  
  
“What do you do, James?” She asks. “Other than this.”  
  
“I’m a college student.”  
  
“What’s your major?”  
  
“Aviation and aerospace engineering and I’m trying to get a pilot’s license.”  
  
Sharon whistles, “damn. Really? Wow. I don’t even know what those are. I went to college for cosmetology but dropped out.” She shrugs, “wasn’t for me, I guess.”  
  
“What’s stopping you from going back?” He asks sipping on his drink. No way in hell is he getting himself drunk tonight.  
  
“Nothing.” She hums then takes another sip. Nodding, she puts the glass down. “I obviously wouldn’t go back to cosmetology...” She lolls her head from side to side. “I always had a fondness for courtroom drama. So I guess I’d go in that field.” She laughs, “not that I expect school or work to be like that all the time. Or at all.”  
  
She finishes her martini and motions to the waiter for another. After thanking him, she returns her attention to James. “What’s that drink called?”  
  
“Between The Sheets.” She says with a cheeky grin. “Wanna try?” James nods and she hands her third (or maybe her fourth?) drink then he takes a sip. This is an indirect kiss, isn’t it? He just indirectly kissed Sharon Motherfucking Carter! “So, James, what would you be doing if you weren’t in college?”  
  
“Not sure. Never thought about it. College was kind of a necessary evil growing up.”  
  
Sharon hums then nods. “I wish my dad gave a shit about my education growing up. He just pushed me into acting, just like him and my aunt.” She sighs tilting her glass, looking down at the table. “Never let my mom be much of a factor growing up either.” She looks up at him. “Can I just say how grateful I am that you only freaked out a bit in the beginning when we first met?”  
  
James laughs, “it’s hardly the worst first impression I’ve given.” Sharon smiles sweetly at him. Why is she so fucking pretty? “I met my roommates in the strangest way imaginable.”  
  
“Do tell.”  
  
“I just finished binge watching Archer on Netflix so when the barista asked for my name told him it was Cheryl. Guy didn’t even bat an eye in my direction. When my name was called two other people reached for my cup: a redhead and a blond. The redhead asked if the barista said Cheryl or Carol and even the barista didn’t know. We rock-paper-scissored for the cup. I had English 101 that day and I wasn’t going there without caffeine. Eventually, after we kept tying, the barista gives us new drinks. The blond trips, spilling his drink. The redhead’s drink gets knocked over by a bird. I kinda felt sorry for them and the line doubled after we left, so I split my drink with them. And even better? My class was canceled that day.”  
  
Sharon’s smile is so big it’s threatening to take over most of her face. “That sounds hilarious.” James nods in agreement. “I love Archer. And I used the character names as aliases too.”  
  
“These are my roommates.” He’s showing off his wallpaper like a proud little brother of his Russian big sister and whatever the hell Clint is little brother. He only heard snippets of his mother’s conversation with Barney; particularly the bit where Barney states he and Clint have different fathers. And Clint was already a bunch of different things to begin with.  
  
“They’re on the website too.”  
  
“Gotta make money somehow.”  
  
Sharon nods with a hum, “can this be like a regular thing? Whenever I’m in town the two of us can hang out. I can meet your roommates, you can meet some of my friends.”  
  
“Done. Absolutely.” Sharon beams at him. “You’ll have to do all that stuff on the website but I’ll be happy to spend time with you whenever.” He almost slipped up and said he’d do it for free, but that’s not gonna fly with the financial troubles. Plus, Sharon brought it up.  
  
“I’ll ditch the hair next time.”  
  
“I don’t know. You look good as a redhead.”  
  
“I know, right?” She giggles, “Thanks. I was trying something new. Never went red before, I kinda like it.” She hums with a smile. “Oh! I already have an idea for our next date.” She beckons James closer then whispers in his ear.  
  
Sharon leans back then smiles. “Square deal.” They shake hands. “I think we can make this work.”  
  
“I was hoping you’d say that.”


	3. Drink # 3 - electric lemonade

James looks up from his phone and does a double take as Sam enters the apartment wearing a very familiar red, white and blue jacket. “Isn’t that Clint’s?”  
  
“Yeah. He let me borrow it. Where is he anyway?”  
  
“Checking out a lead on a dog-walking thing? Didn’t really give me details as he ran off, and I mean literally ran off.”  
  
“Ah.” Sam shrugs the jacket off and heads to the closet. He returns a few seconds later and sits on the couch arm. “His jacket smells like pizza. Not that I’m complaining. It’s the good kind. Not the shit you get three blocks down that smells and tastes like cardboard. Did he have a date in it?”  
  
“No. Nat got over $3,000 over the weekend and treated us to $30 pizza. Clint held an empty box in his jacket to ‘preserve the memory.’ We were gonna offer you some but you weren’t around.” Sam nods slowly. “You didn’t see Nat, did you?”  
  
“You bought pizza yesterday?” James nods, “damn, I don’t remember where the hell I was yesterday. I think I might’ve been on another date.”  
  
“That’s what we figured. There’s still some in the fridge if you want.”  
  
“Oh, I want.” James laughs, “and Nat? I saw her in class this morning. Didn’t she come back yesterday afternoon?”  
  
“More like yesterday night. She came back $3,378 dollars and two new dresses richer. I’m surprised she and Stark didn’t do anything remotely sexual. They didn’t even share a hotel room.”  
  
“Then what the hell did he want her for?”  
  
“Apparently, he originally wanted her for sex but when he realized how young she was he felt sorta skeevy. She _is_ three years younger than his son, after all. Instead, he spoiled her like a daughter instead of a date. Which really benefits everyone.”  
  
“Daughter complex? That’s a thing now?”  
  
“Anything can be ‘a thing.’” Sam nods in agreement. “Heard he wants her for another ‘date’ in a few weeks.”  
  
“Is she gonna go?” James shrugs, “what about your date?”  
  
“Oh...” James rubs the back of his neck, “I had a date with Sharon Carter.”  
  
“The actress?” A nod. “Are you shitting me right now?! Clint and I watched the Captain America movies Sunday night, ordered bad take-out, and played a rousing game of whose fucking whom. Neither of us won.”  
  
“I didn’t think much when I did recon. There wasn’t a picture so I figured I’m either being catfished or it’s a coincidence. Turns out it was neither.”  
  
“Did you get an autograph?”  
  
“No. Wouldn’t that be weird? Or in poor taste or something?” Sam shrugs, “I freaked out for a full minute when we first shook hands.” James sighs, “damn. I should’ve gotten an autograph. Maybe I’ll ask for one next time.”  
  
“There’s a next time?”  
  
“It’s a semi-regular thing or it will be. Whenever she’s around and I’m available we hang out. We’re hanging out again tomorrow. I don’t have classes and she’s still in New York.”  
  
“Do me a favor? Ask her that kiss with Misty Knight felt.”  
  
“What? From the third movie?” Sam nods. “It just hit theatres, Sam, I don’t think she wants to talk about it. Hell, I don’t think she _can_ talk about it.”  
  
“I’m not asking about the movie, I’m not even asking about the characters, I’m asking about the kiss itself. Social media damn near exploded when it happened. I’m talking KorraSami level exploded.”  
  
“Core-what?”  
  
“Korra. The Legend Of Korra? The show’s series finale? When Korra and Asami disappeared to the spirit world holding hands? You don’t remember that?”  
  
“Uh, no?”  
  
Sam gives him a huge, pitying sigh as he shakes his head. “Anyway.” He says finally. “That’s probably what prompted the series. Girls kissing girls, boys kissing girls, boys kissing boys who kiss girls. It’s hard to keep track.”  
  
“Wait. What series?”  
  
“Damn, man, where have you been? It’s all over everywhere. The Howling Commandos are getting a television series in the fall.” James whistles lowly. “I need to get a DVR so I can set it.”  
  
“What’s the series about? Before becoming the Commandos? After the third movie? _Before_ the third movie? Based on the other movie? The technical second one?”  
  
“None? All of it? Somewhere in between? I don’t know. It’s about the characters and all that shit. Whatever it’s about I’m gonna watch it. I doubt Sharon would give you inside info about that.”  
  
“No and I won’t ask.”  
  
“Your loss, man.” Sam gets up and stretches, “if Nat got all this money what’s she gonna do with it?”  
  
“Save? How should I know? We were gonna go apartment browsing but we gotta cook for Shuri and her family this afternoon.”  
  
“Fuck, that’s gonna be awkward.” James nods. “Also, you guys can’t leave me here alone. We’re this close to finding out who our free wi-fi friend is.” Ah, yes. The Free Wi-fi Friend. Originally called Free Wi-Fi _Guy_ until Clint pointed out it may not even be a guy. The poor schmuck either can’t password-protect their Internet or purposely leaves it unlocked so a handful of people can download porn to their heart’s content. He, Clint, and Nat surmise the person’s somewhere between the second and fifth floor for their signal to be strong a majority of the time. Sam doesn’t know everyone in that general area and he definitely doesn’t know every fucking tenant in this shitty building. However, he does greet whomever he sees. ~~His mother would slap him upside his head otherwise.~~ The apartment below him has that guy who claims to hunt vampires. Strangely enough, Sam believes him. Why else would he only leave his apartment at night? Yet still wear sunglasses? No one lives in apartment 418, so Sam can be as loud as he wants – not that he is.  
  
“You can come.”  
  
“Wouldn’t miss it for the world, Jim.” Sam waggles his eyebrows. “I need to meet my future father-in-law then thank him for passing his genes onto Shuri.”  
  
“What if she looked like her mom?”  
  
“Her dad still had a hand in it, James. Damn.”  
  
☕☕☕☕  
  
Natasha pulls her phone out of her pocket and it promptly falls on the sidewalk. “Son of a bitch.” The redhead bends down and picks up the phone glaring at it. Her screen’s cracked but fortunately it’s not a touchscreen or a smartphone or a starkphone or any of that overly high-tech shit, making it still usable. She _could_ always get a new phone, she has enough for it, but there’s no guarantee the next date will pay as much as the last.  
  
With all the money she made, she can pay for next month’s rent by herself and still have money to spare. She won’t but she _could_ and that’s a nice thought to have. It’s also a thought she’s never had before.  
  
“I’m surprised it still works.” Shuri says looking over the phone. Natasha wonders _why_ Shuri didn’t pick a better school to attend, instead of this dump. Of course, if Shuri _had_ they never would’ve met, and Shuri easily is one of the best things in Jersey. “Why not just get a new one?”  
  
“Lack of funds.” Natasha mutters, stuffing her phone back in her pocket.  
  
Shuri hums, “I thought you had a big payday?”  
  
“I did...” Natasha sighs, “but if I buy a new phone, say a smartphone perhaps, three months in they’ll just make a new one. Long story short? Waste of money.”  
  
“What kind of phone do you have?”  
  
“I only need a phone for taking pictures and communicating with a handful of people.”  
  
“That really doesn’t answer the question.”  
  
“Meh. All I know about my phone is it’s obsolete in the modern tech world.”  
  
“Hey...” Natasha raises an eyebrow at the grin, “did you see Clint’s profile on the sugar baby website?”  
  
“Clint’s there now!?”  
  
Shuri nods, “you might’ve known that if you had a smartphone.” Natasha huffs and Shuri laughs, “look.” She pulls up the website and clicks on Clint’s profile.  
  
With every picture, Natasha’s eyes widen further. “Holy shit! When did this happen?!”  
  
“A few days ago? I think you were on your date. Told me he’s meeting his first customer tonight.”  
  
“After dinner, right? Or is he not coming? I doubt James wants to cook without him.”  
  
“James will be fine. You’re there, plus Sam is filling in. Clint was going to cancel but I told him not to.”  
  
“Why?” It’s not a whine, but it’s a close thing.  
  
“Lack of funds.” Shuri parrots, “he almost missed his class because he spent the morning walking dogs.”  
  
“What’s wrong with that? Dogs identify with Clint.” Shuri shakes her head, giving Natasha a flat look, “alright. _Alright_. We’ll do without him. I don’t understand why you couldn’t reschedule.”  
  
“Because I already told Baba about it.” She answers with a shrug.  
  
“Dammit, Shuri.” Shuri giggles then puts an arm around Natasha who sighs heavily. “Do you have the stuff or are we going grocery shopping?”  
  
“We’ll need to go grocery shopping, of course, but somewhere outside of your usual store-banning range.” Natasha sighs again.  
  
Sam and James meet them in front of _Simon’s Wonder World Market_. “Who the hell is Simon?” Natasha asks as they enter. Everyone shrugs in reply.  
  
“We live three minutes from this place. Why have I never seen it before?” Sam asks. “And this is a big ass store.”  
  
“Maybe you never looked?” Shuri suggests, “or you saw it but never paid any attention?”  
  
“Maybe?”  
  
“Don’t listen to her.” James says shaking his head, “this was where that organic store used to be not even two weeks ago.” Sam looks at Shuri who shrugs with a smile.  
  
“I didn’t know that place closed down.” Natasha says, “I mean, I expected it since it gave thousands of people food poisoning, myself included, but it’s still a shock to hear.”  
  
“It did?” Natasha nods. “Wow.” Shuri hums, “what do you guys plan on making?” Sam, James, and Natasha look among themselves. “Please don’t tell me you left that to Clint.”  
  
“I wasn’t aware of—” James elbows Sam.  
  
“Clint has the book you picked out.” Shuri frowns, “but we’ll wing it.” James reassures. “If there’s one thing we can do, it’s come up with shit on the fly.”  
  
Natasha leans on the cart, “regret having Clint not join us yet?” Shuri lets out a sigh.  
  
“Aisle 14’s our destination, people.” Sam says taking his phone out of his pocket, “and we have the Internet for recipes.” Natasha hums then starts pushing the cart.  
  
“I’m so glad it’s a full aisle and not like a quarter of an aisle.” James remarks looking around. “You know, the only thing I remember from the book is plantain.”  
  
“Dude.” Is all Sam says and James nods in agreement.  
  
“Have you ever eaten an African dish before, Natasha?”  
  
“Uh... I don’t think I have? No wait, Sam’s mom made something for International Women’s Day. I can’t remember what it was called.”  
  
“They were called cassava fritters, and I don’t think desserts count.” Sam says.  
  
“Oh. Then I’ll go with my first response.”  
  
“Don’t worry, Red, we’ll set you right.” Sam pats her on the back, “I feel like we need a disclaimer.”  
  
“Warning.” James begins, “what you’re about to eat is in no way shape or form claiming to be better than the last time you ate this dish.”  
  
“Something like that.”  
  
Shuri laughs, “you guys are too hard on yourselves. I guarantee tonight will not be a disaster.” She looks among the three of them, “but I’ll definitely take pictures to show Clint either way.”  
  
“Why don’t we just text him asking for the damn recipes?” Natasha suggests, “if there is one thing on this earth Clint Barton knows, it’s food.” Sam and James nod in agreement, “and archery.”  
  
“Wait.” Sam begins, “why isn’t Clint here?”  
  
“That’s a damn good question.” James says. “Is he meeting us there? Does he know where you live?”  
  
“No to both of those questions. Clint isn’t here because he has his first customer tonight.” Shuri says giddily.  
  
Sam and James exchange glances. “Then why aren’t we helping him?” Sam asks, “no offense to Clint, I love him dearly, but the guy’s a downright disaster. This morning he tripped three times trying to tie his shoes.”  
  
“You think that’s bad? He fell off the bed in the middle of the night, and he sleeps in the middle.”  
  
Natasha frowns. “I’m still not sure how he managed to roll over me and I didn’t feel it.”  
  
“Wait, you two spoon Clint? That’s the cutest thing ever.”  
  
“Call it cute again and I’ll jab you in the eye with a spork.” Sam’s eyes widen.  
  
“Would you all relax? I work with Clint. I’m aware he is an incorrigible mess of a human being but he’s our mess and I would never let him go without assistance.” Sam, Nat, and James sigh in relief.  
  
☕☕☕☕  
  
This Asgard was not like the Asgard of old, told in his father’s stories, but Odin wished it was. For years, he feared his country was too advanced for the rest of the world. His fears were justified when if found out it was. Fortunately, his country was not the only one. This other country was called Wakanda: a small, prosperous country in East Africa free of diseases, famine, and wars with other countries. Odin visited every continent and over one-hundred countries but none were like Wakanda.  
  
Wakanda survived _for generations_ only on their resources. Generations!  
  
Similar to what Odin was doing in Asgard. It’s only right he reaches out to them, through their advanced technology. He had to admit, he was surprised he received word Wakanda’s king was asking to see his country. Many countries _heard_ of Wakanda but none were said to communicate with it.  
  
King T’Chaka took a visit to Asgard before Odin stepped foot in Wakanda. If the king was displeased he did not show it. He was intrigued by the uru Asgard created. Odin, in turn, was amazed by their metal: vibranium. A metal even stronger than adamantium and Odin’s not sure _where_ that comes from.  
  
The visit to Wakanda made Odin want to do serious changes to his country. Asgard prided themselves on their female warriors yet none protected the king, future ruler, or princes and princesses. Even though one of his warriors _is_ the future ruler. Something like this required a giant leap rather than baby steps.  
  
No point in getting rid of male warriors, they might be needed elsewhere. Odin had Angela, his daughter – his first born, train a new era of warriors. Not that Angela needs a bodyguard, but as the future ruler of Asgard she’s entitled to change her mind when she sees fit.  
  
T’Chaka’s warriors, The Dora Milaje, kept up with Angela who has trained from birth to be a warrior and ruler.  
  
If that wasn’t worthy of Odin’s respect, nothing was.  
  
Hell, T’Chaka seemed surprised his warriors, also trained from birth to fight and serve/protect their future ruler, had a tough time with Angela.  
  
Angela was Odin’s strongest warrior. As strong as his other warriors, male or female, were – the Dora Milaje destroyed them. The only one who tied a match, other than Angela, was Brunnhilde. Sif came dangerously close to a victory though. Odin’s sure Thundra would’ve fared well but she broke her leg and was unable to fight at full capacity so she didn’t spar.  
  
Every few months, Odin takes his warriors to Wakanda (they were no longer treated like tourists after the fourth visit. Probably because that’s when they stopped _acting like tourists_ ), to train with the best. If they have any chance of being considered the best, they need to beat the best.  
  
T’Chaka claims his warriors enjoy the fights as much as Odin’s. It’s evident on their faces.  
  
After doing business with each other, Odin sought out other countries to see the “best” they had to offer. For North America it was Stark Industries technological feats; feats which left Odin unimpressed. However, bragging is unbecoming. To do business with them, to get them a smidgen more technological – it would be Odin’s good deed for months to come. Unfortunately, Stark claimed their technology was unrivaled.  
  
It is only fitting Odin and T’Chaka take him down a couple pegs. But not now. In due time.  
  
T’Chaka and his children are currently visiting New York, attending school here, and suggested Odin and his family take a trip here too. It’s different, not necessarily bad but not good either. The place is certainly lively, though. It is no wonder they call it “The City That Never Sleeps.”  
  
Thor, his youngest, seems to love it here. Or perhaps the redhead with the short dress swayed his interest. She was beautiful. Odin would clearly admit it. He’d also admit Thor’s pitifully weak when it comes to a pretty face; something he inherited from his mother.  
  
Odin saw that woman con more than a dozen foolish men out of their winnings and pickpocket another hundred; a few women too. She would make a fine wife for someone someday. And an even better ruler to hundreds.  
  
Speaking of marriage, Angela needs to think about _that_ sooner rather than later. Her significant other does not need to be of noble blood, it does not even need to be someone of a different gender. Odin is aware of his daughter’s lack of interest in men. The physical appearance matters not; Angela’s future significant other merely needs to be worthy of marrying her, based on a series of Asgardian trials.  
  
At the moment, the majority of his children are doing who knows what. But, Thor? Thor is currently on a date with a male. Odin’s noticed Thor’s lingering gazes include every gender. He would be a terrible father to not know what his children are interested in. Thor’s date is a tall (for a non-Asgardian), reasonably attractive blond littered with bruises and bandages. Objectively, the man looks like a walking disaster – but in a strangely, adorable way. Almost as if he would look strange otherwise. If he doesn’t take Thor’s mind off the redhead, nothing will.  
  
☕☕☕☕  
  
Clint looks around as Thor holds the tiniest tea cup in all of creation (or maybe his hands are just big) and drinks from it. He’s not a tea drinker. Prefers coffee, it’s his lifeblood. But he didn’t want to be rude. Admittedly, he probably still came out that way when he gagged and nearly choked on the tea he was offered.  
  
File that under Being A Terrible Guest 101.  
  
“So, Clinton.” Clint suppresses the shudder. He hates being called that. Ringmaster called him it before a job. His father called him it mid-asswhooping. Both the orphanage employees and the other circus hands called him it while yelling. His fully name is never associated with anything good. “You attend university?”  
  
“Huh?” Clint shakes his head, and subtly taps his ears to make sure his hearing aids are fully functional. “No.” Thor blinks at him. “I mean, in a way? Yeah. I go to Union University. It’s not popular or well-known, but I don’t do the college thing there.” Thor’s eyebrows furrow in what Clint _thinks_ is confusion. “I’m taking classes to get my G.E.D..” Thor nods then takes another sip. “Also...” Thor perks up. “Could you maybe not call me by my full name? I’m not all that fond of it.”  
  
Thor blinks then his mouth opens before it closes, he frowns then opens his mouth again to speak. “Ah, my apologies. Your profile suggested as much.”  
  
He speaks so proper! “It’s cool. Uh, no trouble at all?” Wait, that’s not right. He grew up in the circus, he’s not equipped for this!  
  
“You do not need to be so tense, Clint.” Thor stands, “come. Let us go enjoy the evening.”  
  
Clint stands too, “lead the way.” Thor takes him on a walk of the courtyard. This place is like the illegitimate baby of a five-star hotel and a mansion. It’s completely picture worthy and Clint doesn’t waste the opportunity. The hedges are cut like animals and a few are in the shape of Odin; he takes multiple pictures of those.  
  
Clint pets a unicorn hedge as he walks past it, then takes a picture of it. Then takes another picture as he pets it.  
  
Thor’s silent beside him even though the taller blond looks like he’s _itching_ to speak. “Remind me again...” Thor begins, suddenly. “What is a G.E.D.?”  
  
“Uh, not sure what it stands for but it’s kinda worth less than a high school diploma, but it can still help you along the way with college and jobs. Or so I’ve been told. I’ve been working for years without one and I’m doing fine.”  
  
“You did not finish high school.” He frowns at Clint’s grimace.  
  
“In all fairness...” Clint rubs the back of his neck, “never started to finish; never really went to any actual, physical school before this one. Was home schooled, although not sure if they call it that when you’re not at home.” He waves off Thor’s look of concern. “What about you?”  
  
“I, too, was home schooled.” Clint nods in understanding, “but I wish to attend university as well.”  
  
“They’re not all they’re cracked up to be, but far be if from me to stomp all over your dreams and aspirations. You’d have to take a placement test regardless of the college you wanna attend, but you can buy the books almost anywhere.”  
  
“Do you know of any places where I may purchase those books?”  
  
“I know just the one.”  
  
Thor’s _chauffeur_ takes them to Clint’s job – well _one of_ Clint’s jobs. It’s a good thing he was off and no one asked him to work an extra shift. Wouldn’t be able to explain why he’s here yet unavailable to work. Nick, perhaps his favorite co-worker tied with Shuri, looks him over. Nick’s blunt as hell. Something they have in common, but Nick’s just more tactful about it. Only a bit. Thor’s still outside with the chauffeur. Once they started arguing _loudly_ in a language Clint couldn’t understand, he headed inside. “Why come here when you’re off?”  
  
“I’m assisting an acquaintance.” Nick raises an eyebrow. “Met a new friend?” Nick’s still staring with an eyebrow raised, “helping a stranger?” Nick’s _still_ staring. Damn him and his bullshit detector. “Alright, fine. I’m a sugar baby and I’m on a ‘date.’” Nick nods with a hum, “he wants college prep books and I don’t know anywhere else that sells shit like that.”  
  
“That’s a big fella.”  
  
“Tell me about it.” Clint looks over his shoulder watching Thor enter the store. Other patrons stop and stare. Well, it’s more like gaping as every person’s mouth opens slightly with every step Thor takes.  
  
“Romanoff told me you weren’t – well, no, let me start over. Romanoff said wasn’t introducing you to the website due to your lack of photogenic experience.”  
  
“Yeah.” Clint says with a sigh, “Nat told everyone that.”  
  
“You gotta admit, you take some horrible pictures. Some call it nightmare fuel. Your employee ID photo was a small blessing.”  
  
“Really, Nick?” He shrugs. “Are they that bad?”  
  
Nick pauses, no doubt trying to come up with a proper explanation. “Remember that cartoon you showed me with the blue cat who took terrible pictures?”  
  
“You’re comparing me to Gumball?”  
  
“That was his name and yes, yes I am.” Clint sighs again, louder. “How’d you pull off a tiny miracle? I’m gonna assume you had the help of a small team of lighting experts and make up artists?”  
  
“Rude. Only one person helped and she’s both of those things.”  
  
“Jim’s mom, huh?”  
  
“Yup. Sam called my profile premo wanking material.”  
  
“He’s not wrong.” Clint leans over the counter staring at the computer screen that has his profile pulled up. “Didn’t think you had it in you, Barton. I think we can get the manager to get rid of the no food rule behind the counter.” Clint folds his arms over his chest and feels a warm presence behind him. “Hey there, Big Guy. Barton says you’re looking for college prep?”  
  
The big blond guy nods. It reminds Nick of the golden retriever who used to wait by the store until the dog catcher caught up with it. Of course with Clint’s unhealthy love for dogs, they managed to outsmart the dog catcher and simultaneously find the dog a good home. Nick opens another tab and pulls up the store’s website.  
  
Being so close to two different universities, they get a shitload of college students.  
  
Yet somehow don’t sell prep books all that often, and it’s not just the books to prepare for attending college the first time, either. However, conversely, they sell loads of quick study guides; particularly during midterms.  
  
Clint’s still leaning over the counter and the big guy is unsubtly checking him out. Nick can’t help the surge of overprotectiveness. Barton’s damn likability was to blame. Nick won’t deny the soft spot he has for the clumsy blond. And if one person’s life deserved to not get shitted on, for at least a few months, it’s Clint. This sugar baby thing is both a horrendous and wonderful idea. He’s about to get in on it.  
  
Nick jots down the locations for a bunch of books on whatever the big guy is looking for on a sticky note then hands it to the blond. “I thank you.” He bows, “I am Thor.”  
  
“Nick.”  
  
“Do you want me to go with you?”  
  
“I believe I will be fine.” Clint nods slowly watching Thor head in the direction of the shelves.  
  
“By the way.” Clint slowly turns to Nick, “your _customer_ came looking for you.” The blond blinks, trying his damnedest not to perk up. He’s so damn easy to read, and adorable too. “I was expecting him to bolt when he saw my mug but he didn’t. He asked about you then bought some random something before leaving. Looked pretty sad you weren’t here, and it’s usually hard to decipher that guy’s expressions.”  
  
“Oh.” Clint says nonchalantly.  
  
“Oh?” Nick sighs, “what do you want to ask?”  
  
“Nothing.” Clint drums his fingers against the desk. Nick’s counting down the seconds before: “Did he really ask about me?”  
  
“As much as I love to see your expressions, I’m not making this up. He came in, saw me, made a half-step to leave but decided against it and marched up to the counter asking if Barton was working today.”  
  
Clint nearly blurted out an embarrassing, tease-worthy “he knows my name!?” but somehow managed to refrain. Of course, he’s gonna know Clint’s name. His _name-tag_ (on most days) reads Barton! He didn’t want randos calling him by his given name like they knew him so the boss said surnames are okay. It’s still his name. Boss even said variations, anagrams, middle names and nicknames were also okay. Also, non names were acceptable. Best. Boss. Ever.  
  
“What did you tell him?”  
  
“I said no, because you weren’t. No reason to lie about that. He nodded and I added that you’d be in tomorrow. He nodded again, a little happier this time then he bought something and went on his merry way and don’t ask me what he bought, I don’t remember.”  
  
The customer’s been coming to the store for nearly a month, you’d think they’d exchange names at the very least! They talk about everything under the fucking sun, except for their names. Clint may have a shitty memory but he’d remember the guy’s name if he was told it.  
  
“He didn’t give you a name, did he?” Nick shakes his head. Fuck. There’s always tomorrow. Or never. Never might work out better. The guy’s way too good for Clint anyway. Probably committing his good deed of the day giving a shlimazel like Clint a smile or starting a conversation.  
  
Thor returns with a stack of books, depositing them on the counter. “I wish to purchase these.” Nick glances at Clint who shrugs. He nods then looks at Thor.  
  
“Sure thing, Thor.”  
  
The bookstore was merely stop numero uno on the “date.” Thor wanted to “wine and dine” him properly and helping pick out books was not part of that, although Thor was grateful for the assistance. Stop number two was the movie theatre. Clint usually hits the movies before 5pm because that’s when they jack up the price by four dollars. Thor didn’t know anything about the choices so Clint opted to see the third Captain America movie again. He’ll never get sick of watching Isaiah Bradley on screen. Plus, he can finish that argument with Sam now that the movie is fresh in his mind.  
  
Stop number three is a fancy suit place because they’re both criminally under dressed for stop number four.  
  
Thor looked like he had tears in his eyes when Clint told him he doesn’t own a suit nor has he ever worn one. He almost immediately pushed Clint into the store. Like it was a crime not to own a suit he’s never going to wear. He almost seemed personally offended by Clint’s poorness. At least he wasn’t snooty about it.  
  
In a navy bespoke suit (because the store didn’t carry purple, if you can believe it), Clint’s dolled up like one of the Kingsmen. All he needs are the shoes with the spikes in the front. He resists the urge to find a tub of gel then dump it on his head to style his hair fancier.  
  
Thor’s suit is black and fits him like a glove. One would never believe Thor never visited this place before. They seem to have an abundance of suits for men of Thor’s stature. Clint’s suit had to be sewn in a bit because he lacks Thor’s impressive bulk. ~~The tailor spent a good deal of time measuring his arms, though.~~  
  
Stop number four? A restaurant so fancy Clint can’t pronounce it or half the menu items. Ooh, he recognizes a Russian dish. Score! He won’t order it though, he can’t pronounce it. Plus, it’s just animal kidneys; learned that one straight from Natasha. Saw her eat it once too. “I seriously get to keep the suit?”  
  
“Of course.” Thor lifts his glass and a waiter materializes beside him with a big ass bottle of red wine and fills his glass. “It is yours. I will not take the suit from you.”  
  
In addition to tea, Clint’s not much of a wine drinker either. ~~If he plans on drinking he’s hitting the hard stuff.~~ He’s been nursing the same glass of water for three minutes. He’s also been staring down this menu while munching on appetizers. At least the place served mozzarella sticks. He didn’t even ask for them. The waiter just brought them with the wine, another thing no one asked for.  
  
Clint Barton possesses absolutely no class and has no business being in this suit or this restaurant. The judgmental gazes in a few patrons eyes made that clear.  
  
No amount of “How-To” videos is gonna magically make him feel like he belongs here, with the rich. It doesn’t matter how he holds a salad fork, or even knows which fork it is. (Spoiler Alert? He doesn’t, he skipped that lesson.) Barney always told him the rich can sniff out an impostor miles away. From the minute his chair scraped across the hardwood floor, his fate was sealed.  
  
_That_ or everyone’s pissed he came in with Thor.  
  
It’s most likely both.  
  
So, he’s the polar opposite of rich. So what? He’s not paying for this. Why not live it up for the night and order the most expensive thing on the menu then enjoy the hell out of it!? That’s the whole point of this sugar baby thing. Thor gave him the okay to order whatever after he hyperventilated the first time he opened the menu (and the second, the third and fourth times too). A bowl of soup costs _$800_! Why? And if that weren’t sad enough it’s not even the tenth most expensive item on the menu!  
  
Reasonably, ordering _the most expensive item on the menu_ : a bite-size ramekin worth of caviar priced at $5,000 even, is completely out of the question! Who would pay so much for one meal?! A dying meal maybe? But a regular meal? It’s bullshit! The second most expensive item is something incredibly hard to pronounce and over $3,700. Even if he felt like being a total douche and ordering one of these items, he doesn’t know what caviar is and the second thing has truffles; the only ingredient he recognizes. Truffles are just fancy mushrooms – which he’s allergic to. Eating it would most likely kill him. And he’d deserve it too, wasting all this fucking money.  
  
Conversely, the _cheapest item on the menu_ is $78 dollars and it’s a fucking fancy plate of baked chicken, mashed potatoes and what Clint _hopes_  to every available deity is broccoli. Or maybe it could be cauliflower?  
  
A TV-dinner with the same contents? $1.99 to $3.89, depending on where you shop.  
  
Thankfully, every item on the menu has a picture. Most of these things don’t sound like real food. Others don’t _look_ like real food.  
  
The place, fortunately, has normal sounding drinks so he orders an electric lemonade. It’s one of the cheapest drinks here, and one of the few drinks priced under $50. Although _nothing_ seems to be under $40. A cup of coffee is $42.50! A _glass_ of champagne with gold leaves and Himalayan pink salt is $552.83 a pop. Adding edible rose petals tacks on another $53.13. You want the bottle? $2,000 flat.  
  
Just looking at prices makes his head hurt.  
  
You can’t go wrong with $93 ahi tuna (thanks, Chopped or Hell’s Kitchen or some other cooking show) served a side of soba noodles and a lima bean salad. He’s never tried any of this stuff but his epi-pen is tucked away in his suit’s inner pocket, just in case. The tailor enjoyed adding the pocket.  
  
Thor’s meal is a surf and turf: grilled lobster accompanied with, no paraphrasing, _the most expensive cut of beef in the world_ : A5 Kobe Strip Steak. The steak is imported from Japan. Hell, they probably got the lobsters straight from Maine. The steak is so large it’s bigger than both their heads combined. The meal’s total is $400 exactly; over four times the amount of Clint’s meal. ~~The stake alone is over $300!~~  
  
The meal is consumed around small talk and loads of alcohol. It’ll be fun to see which of them can drink the other under the table.  
  
Clint could starve for three weeks straight and still not be able to eat his meal in its entirety (why so much tuna???). He does what any sensible, non-rich, and/or environmentally non-wasteful individual would do: gets a to-go plate. Thor also insists on dessert so Clint gets a fancy, mouthwatering piece of peach cobbler. Thor, surprisingly, gets his dessert to go. A dozen eclairs of different fillings. _A dozen_. Like the guy didn’t eat a Fred Flintstone size steak, a lobster, and all the sides in under thirty minutes!  
  
Stop number five isn’t much of a stop. They’re ~~practically~~ walking off the meal via a stroll through some place Clint is not familiar with. Thor put their take-home boxes in the car ( _in the car’s refrigerator_ ) and the chauffeur’s been driving a few steps behind them during their walk. “Was there any place you had in mind?” Clint turns to him. “To visit?”  
  
“What time is it?” Thor pulls his fancy, sleek phone out of his pocket.  
  
“10:12.”  
  
“Shit, really?” Wait, that part was supposed to stay in his head. Thor nods either way. “Is anywhere even open?”  
  
“Lots of places are, you just need to know where to look.”  
  
“Then show me some place that’s open.”  
  
Thor stops, Clint stops, then the car stops. “Very well.” Thor turns to the car and starts walking. Clint does the same because he doesn’t know where the fuck he is or how to get back to civilization. Thor opens the car door for him. “Shall we?”  
  
“Sure. I got nowhere to be.”  
  
☕☕☕☕  
  
Shuri’s father, T’Chaka, is a tall and imposing man with kind eyes – he reminds Sam of his father. Which is bittersweet, because it makes him miss his old man.  
  
T’Chaka took the delayed meal in stride. James nearly had a heart attack when the man started piling food onto his plate. James did the majority of the cooking because Sam, being his usual charming self, did the tableside shit. (They flipped a coin to see who would do what [between cooking and tableside] and Sam won and chose tableside.) Natasha is the last person they’d send to make the family (or anyone other than them for that matter) comfortable. Most people don’t understand her sense of humor and her resting bitch face causes people to seize up. James also said she couldn’t be trusted to wing it for strangers. The two of them and even Shuri would bounce back from accidental food poisoning, but that’s not the first impression they want to make with Shuri’s family. Clint better be on the best damn date of his life! Making them do all this shit one person short. Clint’s awkward enough to charm anyone without even trying and he and James easily alternate between head chef and sous-chef. Plus, they move seamlessly around each other in any kitchen. Well, presumably, Sam’s only seen them do it in his place and theirs.  
  
Two of Shuri’s three brothers made it to dinner: Hunter and T’Challa. Her youngest other brother, Jakarra, returned to Wakanda for one reason or another.  
  
Shuri gave them the address and headed home to prepare once she deemed the ingredients in the cart would suffice. She neglected to mention her eldest brother (the adopted one) was white because when he opened the door everyone thought they had the wrong address.  
  
Shuri has an apartment no one visited, but the address she gave them was the hotel her father and eldest brother were staying in. Her second oldest brother had an apartment too. It makes one wonder how much money T’Chaka has to give two children apartments and stay in a swanky hotel room.  
  
James nearly had a second heart attack when he realized Shuri’s younger-older brother was the same guy from the library. Well, Sam and Natasha referred to him as the bookstore customer who made several employees and patrons alike (excluding Clint and Shuri) run into things with a smile alone. Nick only ran into one shelf after exposure to T’Challa’s smile but vehemently denies it. Clint’s never needed a distraction to run into things, it’s an everyday occurrence; Shuri, on the other hand, now they know why she was unaffected.  
  
“Is this why you gave Clint a weird face when he asked if we’ll meet your brothers?” James asks.  
  
“We may be half-siblings but T’Challa and I favor one another.”  
  
“Bullshit.” Natasha interjects, “you two don’t look anything alike.”  
  
“You two are both attractive.” Sam interrupts, “but you don’t look similar.” The four of them eye T’Challa as he laughs with his father then turn back to Shuri. “At all.”  
  
“Okay. There’s no way one would know we’re related at a glance, but I like messing with Clint.” Shuri shrugs, “it’s my guilty pleasure.”  
  
“Did you purposely give him a date tonight so he didn’t find out the bookstore guy is your brother?” Sam and James turn to Natasha before turning to Shuri.  
  
“No.” She pauses, “but I know who took him out.”  
  
“Like personally?” James asks and Shuri nods.  
  
“Believe me, Clint will have a better time tonight with my friend than he would hiding from my brother or, I don’t know, faking an illness so he could leave early.”  
  
“True.” Sam agrees, “so who took him out?”  
  
“Oh no, I can’t tell you. You’ll find out from him. But rest assured, Clint is literally in wonderful hands. I may enjoy messing with him but I’ll never put Clint in any danger. He’s teaching me Yiddish swear words.”  
  
“That’s a terrible reason to keep someone around.” James says.  
  
“Plus, he’s nice to look at. And my brother likes him.”  
  
“Really?” Natasha asks. “One would never guess.”  
  
“None of you know T’Challa like I. Everything is as it should be.”  
  
“What if Clint ends up liking your friend?”  
  
“Oh he will, I have no doubt about that.” Everyone stares at her, “ _not in that way_. Have some faith. Would I ruin my brother’s chance at happiness? No. I know what I’m doing.”  
  
“I take it your brother doesn’t know you and Clint are friends.” Natasha says with a raised eyebrow.  
  
Shuri chuckles awkwardly then clears her throat. “This benefits everyone!” She grins. “Trust me.”  
  
☕☕☕☕  
  
Blue-grey eyes snap open and Clint surveys the area as much as he’s able. Something heavy _and breathing_ is numbing his right side. The ceiling’s too far away to be the apartment. Not to mention, wherever this is doesn’t smell like day old pizza with a hint of bacon or burnt popcorn.  
  
What the fuck happened last night? Where was he? After the ridiculously pricey meal and the walk, they went bowling. Of course a bowling alley would be open late at night. That’s when the loud, drunken yahoos arrive.  
  
Thor wasn’t a drunken yahoo, but he was damn loud.  
  
If Clint wasn’t already deaf he would’ve lost his hearing then and there.  
  
In fact, one of his hearing aids shorted out. Roberta was going to _murder him_. He can picture his headstone: Clinton F. Barton – hates full given name, loves dogs (all animals really), pizza, cool tones – mostly purple, and archery; lovable yet unlucky schmuck. Cause of death? Unparalleled clumsiness with a splash of forgetfulness and lots of loud noises. Survived by his older brother, Charles aka Barney B. Barton, neighbor: Samuel T. Wilson and two roommates: James R. Rhodes and Natalia A. Romanova.  
  
Surprisingly, Thor wasn’t the only loud guy in the bowling alley last night. Wasn’t even the loudest. Clint had to rely on his lip reading skills most of the night because the noises gave him a headache. It felt like he skipped getting drunk and went straight into a hangover.  
  
Yawning, Clint tries to move but Thor – the now identified heavy breathing thing – shifts ever so slightly that he’s now ninety percent on Clint. He better be getting paid extra for being used as a body pillow.  
  
Speaking of getting paid: nothing broke, nobody died, and no one was arrested. Clint considers this a success. It’s also his first ever date. It’s also, _also_ , one of the few times none of the aforementioned things happened.  
  
Oh. _Great_. Now he feels Thor’s morning wood pressed against his thigh. Thankfully, his _outer_ thigh. Thor’s a nice dude and whatever but Clint doesn’t want to knee him for getting frisky. He might just have to knee him so he can move, though.  
  
Doubts the guy would feel it. He has more mass than James and Nat combined. Clint’s used to squeezing out of tight places. He was already flexible as fuck pre-circus; he had to curl in on himself more often than not to escape his father’s blurred line of sight. Now that he thinks about it, he was probably the reason Ringmaster picked them up so quickly. Clint Barton: human pretzel at the tender age of six.  
  
The door opens fully, Clint can’t hear it but he sees the light illuminating the formerly dark room. Red and blonde hair enter his line of sight simultaneously. Both of their mouths start moving. “I can’t hear either of you.” He yells. At least he thinks he does; he definitely feels his mouth moving. They both stare at him then the redhead’s mouth snaps shut while she puts a hand over the blonde’s.  
  
Thor’s old man commented on his hearing aids, calling them “inferior technology.” At least it wasn’t a crack about his hearing impairment. This place did have some fancy looking shit.  
  
The redhead purses her lips goes to the side of the bed where Clint’s laying, leans over the blond, and pushes Thor off the bed _with one hand_. Thor gets up suddenly stares at the redhead then puts his head on the bed with what Clint assumes is a groan.  
  
Clint still can’t feel his right side but he only needs one hand to reach under the pillow and find his functioning hearing aid. He puts it on his left ear because the redhead is standing over him.  
  
“—can only imagine the pain you’re in.” He hears when he switches them on. She sounds amused so Clint grins up at her. “When you’ve fully regained feeling in your body Amora will take you to the guest bathroom.” The blonde, the redhead called Amora, curtsies. “Breakfast will also be ready by then.”  
  
“Thanks.”  
  
“Do not mention it. Thor’s incessant babbling about the redhead grew tiresome.” The woman turns on her heels and exits the room.  
  
Clint slowly puts his body in a sitting position. Never got paid to be a distraction before. He kinda likes it. Exerting himself, he finally manages to get out of bed. He’s not sure when he changed into the jeans he wore before getting the suit or why this unfamiliar shirt is three sizes too big.  
  
Clint follows Amora down the hall to the bathroom. “There should be clothes inside for you already.” Amora says then leaves.  
  
Okay. The blond enters the bathroom closing the door behind him. Hands down, it’s one of the top four fanciest bathrooms he’s ever stepped foot inside. Not as fancy as the one with the lion’s head faucets or the all chrome finish but it’ll do. As he’s shucking out of his pants his cell rings. Oh. He slept with his phone in his pocket? That’s a head scratcher.  
  
When he sees the picture and name, he picks up. “Do you know what time it is?”  
  
_“Hey, Barton. Good morning to you too! I’m just dandy, pal. Thanks for asking.”_ Clint sighs, _“since you wanna jump straight into business I got a question for ya.”  
  
_ “Shoot.”  
  
_“Can you take some pictures of me for the sugar baby thing too? I don’t wanna be ass deep in debt once this G.E.D. shit ends.”_  
  
“You and me both.” Clint runs a hand through his hair, “hold on. You can’t possibly be eighteen.”  
  
_“Sorry to disappoint, but I am...”_ A pause, _“give or take a few months.”_  
  
Clint laughs. “How many is _a few_?”  
  
_“Uh..., it’s still April, right?”  
  
_ Clint shimmies out of his pants and underwear. “Almost May.” He tugs his shirt off with his free hand.  
  
“ _Ooh! Even closer. We’re looking at about four months then.”_  
  
“About?”  
  
_“Yeah,_ about _. Cut me some slack, would ya? It’s not like I have a full twelve months left. Just a third of that.”_ A sigh. _“Will you help me or not?”_  
  
“I’ll help but there’s no guarantee they’ll let you join. People go to jail for fucking almost an eighteen year old. No one wants the threat of statutory looming over them. Except the sick fucks who get off on that shit.”  
  
_“I’ve been an emancipated minor since fourteen, if that helps.”_  
  
“Huh. Learn something new every day. I’ll see what I can do. Don’t get your hopes up.”  
  
_“Never do. See you in class, Barton.”_  
  
Clint eyes the time on his phone, “oh shit. What day is it?”  
  
_“Uh, Wednesday? ”_  
  
Clint’s clock is displaying 8:48am. Roughly an hour before class starts, the same amount of time it takes to get to Union from Manhattan. He’ll cut it very fucking close if he leaves within ten minutes. “I gotta go. Help me and I’ll help you.”  
  
Clint practically _feels_ the eye roll, _“fine but this doesn’t make us even. I want expensive beer.”_  
  
“I’m not old enough to buy liquor, remember? Also, this makes us even but since I’m a nice guy I’ll get Nat to pick something up as soon as you give me the money. Sound fair?”  
  
_“I guess. Just get your ass here.”_  
  
“I will.” Then they both hang up. Fuck. 8:50am. No time to marvel at the beautiful bathtub, but it takes less than twelve seconds to take a picture.  
  
The time is 8:54am when he steps out the shower. The clothes left for him are a size and a half too big but he can’t do shit about that now. They’re warm, comfortable and whatever detergent used to wash it smells incredible. Outside the bathroom is a bag – a clear bag where his clothes, suit included, are folded neatly. He picks it up and...  
  
Thor comes around the corner with Amora. “Good morning! Shall we partake in breakfast?”  
  
“As much as I’d hate to turn down a free meal if I don’t get back to Jersey I’m gonna miss my class.”  
  
Thor’s eyebrows furrow adorably. “I figured as much.” Amora says, “the cooks provided you with a to-go plate. You seem to be fond of those.”  
  
Clint hoists up his bag then takes the offered plates. One of this morning’s hearty breakfast (he wouldn’t be able to eat in one sitting) and the other of last night’s meal (something else he won’t eat in one sitting). “Thanks for everything. I, uh, had a great time. Let me know if you wanna do it again...” He rocks back and forth on his heels for a few seconds before: “ah, what the hell...” then tip-toes (slightly) to kiss Thor on the cheek.  
  
“Let’s get the chauffeur to give you a ride.” Amora looks back at Thor, sighs, then hurries Clint along.  
  
Thor stares, watching Amora take Clint away. “Well, that escalated quickly, wouldn’t you agree?” He turns to Angela. “I’d say you like this one as much as the redhead. What is it with you and the ‘imprinting’ as they say?”  
  
“I cannot help myself.”  
  
“That is obvious, dear brother.” Angela hums, “I suggest you call him again. Make it a semi-permanent thing. Shall we review the website during breakfast?” Thor sighs as he nods.  
  
The breakfast table is full of food and full of family; some warriors (not immediate members of the family) are dining with them as well. Amora returns, alone, and takes a seat beside Thor smiling smugly at him.  
  
“Your boy was quite adorable.” Amora muses, “I think I may offer him a date.” She taps her chin.  
  
“You will do no such thing, Amora.”  
  
“Why? I no longer have an interest in _you_ , Dear. I am free to pursue who I wish.” She licks her lips, “and oh, do I wish.”  
  
“You merely do this to anger me.”  
  
“I never grow tired of that, Dear.” She hums.  
  
Thor gives Angela a pleading look and she groans. Oh, to be the eldest. Such a burden. “What were all those books you had last night?”  
  
“University books.”  
  
Angela nods slowly, “so you’re staying, in New York?”  
  
“Perhaps or I might venture out to New Jersey.”  
  
“Father.” Odin’s seated at the head of the table while Frigga or Freyja/Freya or whatever she chooses to call herself, his _current_ wife and Angela’s mother, is at the other side. Angela, like always, is seated on Odin’s right. A seat she grows tired of sitting in. “Thor and I wish to stay here.”  
  
Odin drops his fork. “Do you?”  
  
“To become a fitting ruler I should explore many countries.” Angela recites. She and Thor had this discussion countless times before. Odin can’t resist hearing his words used back at him. Makes it seem like they're actually listening to him.  
  
“Ah.” He nods, “true.” Gets him every time. “You two expect to stay here alone?”  
  
Angela grimaces. That, she did not expect. Or rather she did expect it. Just didn’t expect him to comment on it. Who would be least likely to get on her nerves? Amora – although the same could not be said of getting on Thor’s nerves. Then again, Amora enjoys pissing off Thor. Angela can’t blame her, it’s one of her favorite pastimes too. Who else? Brunnhilde, definitely. Titania and Thundra too. Maybe even Sif but she’s into Thor in the same way Amora was once. But if Amora could be brought out of her desperate lust for Thor, Sif can too. Well, that’ll be Thor’s call. Personally, she doesn’t care if Sif is here or not. “I did.” She admits, “but you clearly did not.”  
  
“Take your brother.” Angela’s about to ask _which brother_ , when Odin corrects himself. “Balder.”  
  
“No.”  
  
Odin nods, “yes. Balder will stay with you two and I do not care who else.” Angela eyes her brother, seated on Odin’s left like the good little suck up he is. The second born. One of her three full brothers, unlike Thor – the baby – who is of a different mother. Angela doesn’t know what the hell was going on with Freyja and Odin during that time. Truthfully, Angela doesn’t even know _who_ Thor’s mother is. She doubts anyone ( _including Odin_ ) knows. “That is my offer or all of you are returning with us.”  
  
She won’t huff. Odin doesn’t deserve the satisfaction. “I agree to your terms. I wish to take Brunnhilde, Thundra, and Titania.” Amora pointedly clears her throat, “right, this one too.”  
  
She glances at Thor whose face contorts painfully, “and Sif as well.” The brunette sits up straighter in her seat. She probably just kicked Thor for not including her sooner.  
  
“Will you not ask whom _I_ wish to have beside me?” Angela glares at him.  
  
“Oh!” Thor interrupts, “a thousand pardons, brother, but I almost forgot I wish Hercules to stay as well.” Hercules nods at him. Right. Surprisingly, Angela forgot about him.  
  
“Go ahead, Balder. Whom do you wish to have beside you during your stay in New York?”  
  
Balder strokes his chin thoughtfully. “Well...”  
  
☕☕☕☕  
  
If Clint didn’t thrive on being such a defiant bastard, he’d give this G.E.D. shit a giant middle finger. He literally bumps into Natasha on his way to class. There is a series of uncoordinated yet strangely alluring and gravity-defying aerobatic moves neither of them realized they were capable of before that moment to avoid bumping into the other again. During the whatever it was, he slipped Natasha a piece of paper with all the beer Tommy usually drinks. Much like James and Natasha, he’d do damn near anything for his buddy Tommy. They met in the circus and got out around the same time, much like with Kurt. The three of them decided to do this G.E.D. thing together. In layman’s terms, Natasha preyed on Kurt’s entirely too trustworthy nature (especially considering all the shit the circus did to him) and got him to convince Tommy. If you word it a certain way then throw in a reasonable amount of explosions and free liquor, Tommy Shepherd’s down for anything. Realizing he was outnumbered, Clint went along with it. He hasn’t forgiven Natasha since.  
  
Twenty-years-old, barely educated, and born in the subpar state of Iowa. Clint would never delude himself into thinking he’s ‘book-smart’ because in the end none of that book-learning matters an iota if you’re not street-smart. Tommy came fresh outta Jersey (Clint’s been living here long enough to drop the New. Apparently only people from New York, New Jersey, and Philadelphia refer to the state as _Jersey_ and not  New Jersey. ~~Constant exposure to Tommy may have brought this out~~ ), and to be honest not even Kurt knows where he’s from.  
  
He’s grateful for Tommy and Kurt because Nat, James, Shuri, Nick, and Sam are too damn smart for him most of the time.  
  
Makes him wonder why they bother being near him let alone being his friends, roommates, or neighbors. Probably need someone younger and dumber in their circle of friends. No explanation for it otherwise.  
  
He’s leaning back in his chair, in the back of the classroom beside Tommy who is slurping on a slushie. Damn their nonexistent attention spans.  
  
“What’s with the giant bag, man?”  
  
“Free food from a date.”  
  
Tommy whistles appreciatively and nods. “Can I have a bite?”  
  
“Hell no. One bite always ends up being more.”  
  
“Sorry, bro. Not my fault I have this metabolism.”  
  
“After class and _one bite_. We clear?”  
  
“Crystal.”  
  
After class they head back to the apartment. Evidently every person Clint associates with, that he does not work with, lives in this apartment building. It’s cheap and most of the people – if not everyone, sans Shuri, he knows is broke. Tommy flops down on the couch. “I’m not tech-savvy enough to start your profile.”  
  
“Hey, old man, just get me on the website and I’ll take it from there.”  
  
“Old man? I’m not even three full years older than you.” Tommy scoffs. Clint gets Natasha’s laptop – the same one she says he can use without asking her – then gets on the _Getting Some Sugar_ website.  
  
“Fuck, dude, that you?”  
  
Clint doesn’t have the energy to facepalm. The website randomly picks a profile and puts it on the front page. Unfortunately, at the moment, the unfortunate/fortunate (depending on perspective) soul is Clint F. Barton. They even fixed, shortened, his name ergo omitting the whole “he dislikes his full name” bit.  
  
Clint F. Barton. Hometown of Waverly, Iowa. Height: 6’3”. Hair color: Blond. Eye color: Bluish-grey. Favorite Color: Purple. Favorite Food: Pizza. He left the favorite animal portion blank because as much as he loves dogs he can’t say it makes him dislike any other animal any less. He is also one of those “rare” individuals that loves cats as much as he loves dogs. Possibly the same individual who enjoys Star Wars as much as Star Trek. He’s seen bar brawls dedicated to that argument. Serious bar brawls. There’s other tidbits of info too, like his blood type, allergies, favorite movie, hobbies...  
  
Then there are the pictures and, oh damn, Sam wasn’t kidding about the gifs. Wow. Hundreds of people are jerking off to images and gifs of him as he reads this.  
  
Honestly, he doesn’t know how he should feel about that.  
  
“Sign me the fuck up, Barton.”  
  
Profile information. Thomas Shepherd. Hometown of East Orange, New Jersey. Height: 5’9”. Hair color: White. Eye color: Green. Favorite color, favorite food, and favorite animal are blank. Tommy doesn’t have any of those things. He eats whatever, enjoys all colors to a certain degree, and plays with whatever animal is available. Now for the pictures. If there’s one thing Clint can do it’s take a decent picture. _Take_ one not take one.  
  
He takes a bunch of “safe” pictures. Nothing with any fellating of foods at first, then he goes for the real dirty ones. Half-naked pics, suggestive pics, suggestive half-naked pics. Those were good ones.  
  
Tommy puts a bottle on the table. “What is that, _lube_?”  
  
“Baby oil. Really drizzle it on me.”  
  
“Hey, if that’s what the pervs are into. Go for it.”  
  
“This website has more than just pervs you know.”  
  
“Oh, I know. Although, I can confidently say it’s probably a majority of pervs. Oh! Hey look, an under eighteen section.” Tommy sighs in relief. The youngest in the under eighteen age employee they’ll take is sixteen. Not a lot of wiggle room. Whatever. Tommy’s seventeen until September. The website also has a list of sugar daddies and sugar mamas. Clint never realized it before, on the count of never looking, but there are _a lot_ of under eighteen sugar parents. Over fifty of the fuckers.  
  
Rich, clearly horny, presumably _bored_ kids. You can only get arrested for underaged sex if you’re doing it with someone not underaged or someone under thirteen. Do people that age even _want_ sex? Of course that’s just New York. Clint doesn’t know about the rest of the United States. The age of consent varies from state to state, and country to country. Jersey’s age of consent is sixteen as well as Pennsylvania and Connecticut; New York’s is seventeen. Sixteen and seventeen year olds in the tri-state area, because that’s where this website was founded. Clint’s not sure why they call it “tri-state” when it spans four states instead of three.  
  
After the baby oil _thing_ , the profile of one Tommy Shepherd is up – it’s only visible to them and the website’s creators. Same thing they did with Clint’s, with all the profiles.  
  
“Cool. Thanks, man.”  
  
“Don’t mention it.”  
  
“Want me to warm your food up in my place? I have a microwave there.”  
  
Clint waves him off, “it was served cold in the restaurant.”  
  
“Should it be?” Clint shrugs then opens the container with last night’s meal. “What is this?”  
  
“Ahi tuna.”  
  
“I think I remember that name from an episode of Hell’s Kitchen.”  
  
“The only food I recognize from Hell’s Kitchen on the spot are those damn scallops.”  
  
“Chefs are always overcooking those things.” Clint nods in agreement. “And that beef thing.”  
  
“No dude, the risotto.”  
  
“Dude. Always with the risotto. Ooh! Let’s make one!”  
  
The door kicks open. “Fuck, this thing is heavy!” Clint doesn’t recognize that voice and he’s only got one hearing aid in. He peers over the couch, because Nat and James decided to have it facing _away_ from the front door, and sees a squinting brunette kicking the door closed behind her. “Barton?”  
  
“‘Nessa?”  
  
“Who’s this?”  
  
“Nat’s stripper and dealer friend.” Tommy gives him a strange look. “Not drug dealer. Casino dealer.”  
  
Tommy nods then gets up to help her with a giant cloche. “Hey, no judgment either way. I’m Tommy.”  
  
“Vanessa. Nice to meet ya.”  
  
“What ‘cha got there?”  
  
“Fucked a caterer and she brought me dessert! Now I’m bringing it to you. Where’s Nat?”  
  
“On a date with Howard Stark.”  
  
“Another one?”  
  
Tommy puts the cloche on the kitchen counter. Clint heads over there in time to see Vanessa dramatically lift the cloche revealing—  
  
“Did she tell you what the dessert _was_?” Clint asks eyeing it suspiciously. Tommy takes his phone out of his pocket and takes several pictures.  
  
“You’re so uncultured...” She shakes her head, “it’s—”  
  
“A tower of cream puffs or profiteroles.” The three of them turn to the voice. Sam puts his hands in his pockets and shrugs as he approaches. Tommy and Clint stare at Sam, then the thing, then Sam again, “it’s called a croquembouche.”  
  
“A _what_?!” Is the collective question.  
  
“Crow—”  
  
“Don’t bother.” Vanessa says patting him on the shoulder. “Eat, you Philistines.” Tommy plucks a cream puff from the top of the tower and takes an experimental bite. Clint _stares_ gauging his reaction. He sucks on the cream, licking his lips afterwards. When he gives the thumbs up Clint and Sam tentatively takes one cream puff. “By the way, this is my thank you to Nat for introducing me to _Getting Some Sugar_.”  
  
“How is it _her_ gift if you’re eating it too?” Sam asks. Everyone in this room is a sugar baby on the website currently.  
  
“Because I gotta eat too. Damn.” She plucks a profiterole from the tower and eats it, “what’s today’s plan? Ooh, is that ahi tuna?”  
  
Sam cranes his neck. “Ah-ha, what?”  
  
“Ahi tuna.” Clint slaps her hand away. “Ow! Rude.”  
  
“Go back in the kitchen. I’ll bring my food there.” Vanessa huffs but complies. Clint brings his two to-go containers and puts them on the table.  
  
“Shit, Barton.” Vanessa eyes the food, “what happened?”  
  
“Date. Dinner and breakfast.”  
  
“You must’ve fucked a millionaire.”  
  
“Didn’t fuck anyone.”  
  
“You got all this food and didn’t put out? I call bullshit.”  
  
“Didn’t have time to fuck. Had to get to class.”  
  
“See. I’m gonna use that excuse next time.”  
  
“It wasn’t an excuse.” Tommy says taking another cream puff.  
  
Vanessa hums. “I’ll use it as an excuse anyway. Oh!” She sits up, “I remembered the other reason I came here. I need a Jersey apartment.”  
  
“Where do you live now?” Sam asks.  
  
“Pennsylvania. I live in like the middle of nowhere. It takes me two hours to get to civilization! Plus, I know _no one_ in my building. And I _tried_. Boy did I ever try. Is it because I’m a stripper and casino dealer who knows a plethora of ten-dollar words? Do they stereotype me? I see people shut their doors when I walk by. They bitch and talk shit about strippers while they’re the same one paying to see one perform.” She shakes her head. “A fucked-up double standard. Women eye me with poorly concealed disdain while their men eye me with poorly concealed lust. But, oh no, it’s not just women that dislike me. I’ve had dudes talk down to me and women lust after me. I literally cannot win.”  
  
“That’s fucked up.” Tommy says grabbing a handful of cream puffs. “Jersey’s full of lowlifes that’ll never judge you. Maybe not _this part_ but where I’m from. Some of the nicest people I ever met were strippers and drug dealers.”  
  
Sam tries his best not to look as alarmed as he feels by the truth of that statement. Maybe not the drug dealer part. He doesn’t know any (at least, he doesn’t _think_ he knows any). “Me too!” Vanessa exclaims. “I also work part-time at a bakery.”  
  
“You have three jobs?”  
  
“Barton, you have _eight_.” Clint counts on his fingers then nods in confirmation.  
  
Sam does a double take. “You have _eight_ jobs? How?!”  
  
“I only have two steady-ish jobs but the rest are what they say is ‘on-call.’ Oh, but this sugar baby thing makes three though, right?”  
  
There’s a knock on the door and Shuri’s head pokes through. She’s probably the only person they know that’ll knock. “This is some gathering. What is going on?”  
  
Vanessa stands, “hey there!” She walks over to Shuri. “Vanessa.”  
  
She extends her hand and Shuri shakes it. “Shuri. Nice to meet you, I heard so much about you.”  
  
“Likewise. I was hoping to meet you soon. Please tell me you know what a croquembouche is?”  
  
“I do.”  
  
Vanessa sighs in relief, “please.” She puts an arm around Shuri’s shoulder, guiding her to the table. “Come. Let’s eat.” She puts her other arm around Sam, “it feels so good to be around other cultured individuals.”  
  
“Just because they know a fancy word for a tower of cream puffs?” Vanessa narrows her eyes at Tommy. “Hey, is it true one of Jim’s sugar mamas is Sharon Carter?”  
  
Vanessa perks up, “Rose? From the Cap movies?” She fans herself off, “why am I just hearing of this!? You know I got it bad for Rose! She’s my spirit animal!”  
  
“I didn’t think _a person_ could be someone else’s spirit animal.” Shuri says tapping her chin. “Perhaps I’m unfamiliar with the concept?”  
  
“No, you’re right.” Sam agrees. Shuri hums with a nod. “It’s pretty recent, I just found out about it myself.” Vanessa points at Tommy and Tommy points at Clint. “Anyway, you never told any of us about your thing for Rose. Maybe you told Nat?”  
  
“Huh. Maybe.” Vanessa leans back, sulking. “This is the kinda shit I miss living in _Pennsylvania_. Not even a cool part like Pittsburgh. Hell, I’ll even tolerate Philadelphia.”  
  
“Don’t let Jim hear you say that. He’s from Philly.”  
  
“Shit. I forgot.” Vanessa looks around, “where is Jim?”  
  
“Didn’t tell me.” Clint says with a shrug.  
  
“He’s probably with Sharon as we speak.” Sam says with a one-shoulder shrug.  
  
Vanessa swears. “Does this place have any apartments available?”  
  
“You don’t wanna live here. _We_ don’t wanna live here and we already do.”  
  
“Let me tell you right now. In all seriousness. _Anywhere_ is better than my building or Pennsylvania’s smallest town of Parker.”  
  
“Damn. I was hoping it had an unusual name.” Sam nods in agreement. “Look.” Clint sighs. “Alright. Can’t talk you out of it so we’ll help you find a place in this shithole, just don’t say we didn’t warn you.” 

 


End file.
